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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78685 ***
+
+                    HASHKNIFE AND THE FANTOM RIDERS
+
+                              W. C. Tuttle
+
+           Author of “Blind Trails,” “The Loom of Lies,” etc.
+
+
+A cold drizzle of fog and rain was sweeping in from the ocean, almost
+obliterating the guttering arc-lights along the street. Far away sounded
+the clanking rattle of a cable-car, screeching around the sharp turns.
+An iron-tired vehicle rattled over the cobble-stones, and from far down
+the harbor sounded the harsh notes of a fog-horn.
+
+At the front door of an old-fashioned residence, which had been a
+magnificent edifice in its time, stood two men, hump-shouldered in the
+dripping rain. It was impossible, in that light, to describe their
+appearance, except that one was tall and the other very profane.
+
+The tall one, ignoring the call-button, hammered on the door with his
+knuckles. They listened for a few moments, and then the smaller one
+cleared his throat harshly.
+
+“Aw, to ---- with this country!”
+
+“Raise yuh a stack of blues,” said the tall one dryly.
+
+“’F I ever get out of here--say, ‘Hashknife,’ are yuh sure this is the
+place?”
+
+The tall one hammered on the door again, before he said-- “I betcha it
+is, Sleepy; but the house is so danged big they can’t hear m’ knock.”
+
+As he started to knock again the door opened softly and a butler, of
+very dignified appearance, squinted closely at them.
+
+“Is this him?” queried the smaller of the two men, but the tall one
+ignored the question and spoke directly to the butler.
+
+“I been hammerin’ on the door for ten minutes.”
+
+“Pardon me, but you should have rung, sir.”
+
+“Yeah?” The tall man grinned widely. “Well, I might ’a’ whistled, but
+I’ll be danged if I ever carried a bell. Is Mr. William Lanpher to
+home?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Are you Mr. Hartley?”
+
+“M’ name’s Hartley, yessir.”
+
+“Mr. Lanpher is expecting you, sir. He will see you in the library.”
+
+“My gosh!” exploded the smaller man, “I hope he don’t ask me to read.
+You go ahead, Hashknife, and I’ll guard the rear.”
+
+Together they followed the butler into the richly furnished home, where
+their soggy, high-heeled boots made no sound in the heavy carpets, and
+into a high-ceiled, homey-looking room, where a log fire crackled in the
+big fireplace.
+
+“May I take your hats?” asked the butler.
+
+“No, never mind,” grinned Hashknife Hartley. “If we stay long, I reckon
+we can hang ’em up ourselves. Did yuh say he was lookin’ for us?”
+
+“Mr. Lanpher will be down in a moment,” assured the butler, as he
+silently withdrew.
+
+The tall man rubbed his big hands together and went to the fireplace,
+the water still dripping from his wide sombrero. The other man looked
+around the room, taking in all the details before joining the tall man
+at the fire, where they stood with their backs to the grateful heat and
+took stock of the place.
+
+“What do yuh reckon he wants, Hashknife?” asked the smaller man softly.
+
+“I dunno, ‘Sleepy.’ You seen the letter he sent to us at Phoenix. The
+secretary of the Cattle Association said that he knowed Lanpher and that
+he was all right. Danged if I’d ’a’ ever come to Frisco if I knowed it
+was so cold here. Rather face a Dakota blizzard than that danged fog.”
+
+“Lanpher must have money,” observed Sleepy Stevens. “’F I had money I’d
+live in the sunshine, y’betcha. I’m wet plumb through. Listen to this--”
+
+Sleepy extended a soggy boot and worked his toes.
+
+“Hear her squirsh?”
+
+Hashknife grinned softly, which almost concealed his eyes in a mass of
+wrinkles. His face was thin and bony--almost sad in repose, and bronzed
+to the texture of leather from facing the weather of the wide places.
+
+His arms were long and ended in a pair of muscular hands, which seemed
+to be always in his way. Sleepy Stevens was shorter, heavier built, with
+a deeply-lined face, a calculating pair of blue eyes, and hair which
+might be designated as a roan color.
+
+Their garb and actions showed plainly that they were from the cattle
+country, although they were wearing “store” clothes, except for their
+boots and hats.
+
+“Yeah, I’ll admit that yore feet are wet,” smiled Hashknife, “but you
+ain’t got nothin’ on me, cowboy. I’ll bet yuh even money that I’ve got
+more water in my boots than you have, and settle it right here.”
+
+“Feller, you’ve done made a bet!” snorted Sleepy, and sat down on the
+floor, tugging at his boot.
+
+Hashknife leaned against the mantel, hooked the heel of one boot over
+the toe of the other and began to remove his boot, when William Lanpher
+came into the room.
+
+So engrossed were the two cowboys that they did not see him until he
+said--
+
+“Perhaps I can find some dry foot-gear for you.”
+
+“Huh!” Hashknife stopped and stared at him. “Howdy. Say, you can referee
+this bet.”
+
+“Bet?” Lanpher stared at them. “I do not understand.”
+
+William Lanpher was a medium-sized man, of about fifty years of age,
+rather fleshy, round-faced and well-dressed. The cities are full of
+William Lanphers.
+
+“Well,” Hashknife grinned softly and looked at his partner, “I reckon we
+was a little hasty. I bet Sleepy that my feet were wetter than his, but
+I plumb forgot to state the size of m’ bet.”
+
+“Write yore bet, cowboy!” snorted Sleepy. “I’ve got half of it up to m’
+hip right now, but I’ll almost give yuh odds on what’s left in m’ boot.”
+
+Hashknife worked his foot back into his boot, and Sleepy, seeing that
+the bet was all off, swore softly and scuffed his foot on an expensive
+Oriental rug, trying to force the boot back on to his foot.
+
+“You are Mr. Hartley,” said William Lanpher, “and I have been expecting
+you.”
+
+“I betcha,” nodded Hashknife. “But yore front door is so thick that m’
+knock never got through it.”
+
+“I wrote to the Cattlemen’s Association,” said Lanpher slowly. “I wanted
+the best man they could recommend.”
+
+“You got both of ’em, mister,” Sleepy grinned and felt of his toes.
+
+“I only asked for one,” smiled Lanpher.
+
+“The good ones comes in sets of twos,” said Sleepy seriously.
+
+“The letter was sent to us at Phoenix,” said Hashknife. “I know Bill
+Wheaton, the secretary, real well, and he said he knowed you. We had
+a ---- of a time findin’ this house.
+
+“Me and Sleepy got on one of them danged street-cars that goes
+----ity-blippin’ along, and we hit a curve and Sleepy fell off and----”
+
+“Fell off!” snorted Sleepy. “I got bucked off, yuh mean. The conductor
+yelped, ‘Look out fer the curve!’ But he yelped after I was reachin’ for
+the saddle-horn.”
+
+“And I got off to pick up the remains, and the danged car went away
+without us. Sleepy said he’d be darned if he’d ride another one; so
+we walked.”
+
+“We waded,” corrected Sleepy.
+
+Lanpher laughed and drew some chairs up to the fire, after which he
+offered them cigars, but they declined in favor of their own home-rolled
+cigarets. Lanpher, once he got settled in his chair, lost no time in
+coming down to his reasons for sending for them.
+
+“I own a half-interest in the Circle Cross cattle outfit in the Ghost
+Hills Range. Know where it is?”
+
+“I know where it’s located,” nodded Hashknife, “but we ain’t never been
+there. I’ve heard of the Circle Cross outfit.”
+
+“I wish I never had,” said Lanpher bitterly. “It has already cost me a
+fortune in money, and,” he hesitated, “has cost me more than mere money
+could replace.”
+
+“Cow ranches are expensive sometimes,” agreed Sleepy interestedly.
+
+“What seemed to be the real trouble with the Circle Cross?” queried
+Hashknife, stretching his long legs out to the fire and rolling another
+cigaret.
+
+Lanpher tossed his cigar into the flames and leaned back in his chair.
+
+“Three years ago,” he began, “Jim Trainor and I bought the Circle Cross.
+Trainor knew the cattle business--I had the money. It was sort of a case
+of him putting his experience against my cash.
+
+“We bought stock from all over Wyoming, and I will assure you that the
+outlay of gold was considerable. I knew nothing about the business,
+but I knew that Jim did. In fact, I know nothing about it now, except
+that--well, my experience was not exactly pleasant.
+
+“One year ago, or about that length of time, the Circle Cross cattle
+began to disappear. Perhaps it was longer ago than that, but no matter.
+A roundup proved that we had lost a small fortune in cattle.
+
+“Jim started an investigation, but was unable to arrive at any
+conclusion. But it served to increase his vigilance and he found that
+stock was disappearing with startling regularity.”
+
+“Some smart rustlers cleanin’ yuh out, eh?” smiled Sleepy. “They will do
+things like that, Mr. Lanpher.”
+
+“So we discovered,” said Lanpher dryly. “After our own investigations
+failed, we called upon the Cattlemen’s Association, and they sent an
+operative. He worked as a cowboy upon the Circle Cross, but was unable
+to solve the mystery.
+
+“He was taken off the job and another man put on. This man was shot
+and killed a week after he went into the Ghost Hills country. He was
+found, riddled with bullets, lying in a corral just outside the town
+of Wolf Wells.
+
+“There was no clew to his death. Another detective was sent in to take
+his place.”
+
+Lanpher paused to light a cigar and Hashknife snuggled deeper into his
+big chair.
+
+“Does it interest you?” asked Lanpher.
+
+“We ain’t made no move to walk out,” grinned Hashknife. “Keep her
+spinnin’, pardner.”
+
+Lanpher nodded slowly and squinted into the fire.
+
+“I’m no story teller, Hartley. This might be embellished quite a lot,
+but I haven’t the ability to use words. That detective was there ten
+days when he was killed--shot.”
+
+“One detective was taken off the job and the next two were killed,
+eh?” mused Hashknife thoughtfully. “Two out of three is a pretty good
+average. Was you there, Lanpher?”
+
+“No. This last killing was done a month ago. It seemed a foolish thing
+to ask the association to send in another man; so I corresponded with
+Mr. Wheaton. He advised me to get in touch with you.”
+
+“Did the sheriff arrest anybody?” queried Sleepy. “They mostly always
+does arrest somebody.”
+
+Lanpher threw his cigar into the fire and leaned forward, elbows on
+knees, squinting thoughtfully, as if trying to frame a reply. Then he
+nodded slowly, seriously.
+
+“Yes, they arrested old ‘Pinto’ Cassidy.”
+
+Lanpher shut his jaws tightly and got to his feet. He seemed to be
+laboring under a strain, as he paced half the length of the room
+before turning back to them. Hashknife and Sleepy waited for him to
+resume.
+
+“And that is the part of the whole thing that hurts,” he said slowly.
+“Cassidy is a squawman. His wife is a Sioux squaw. He owns the Tomahawk
+outfit. ---- knows, he had enough Indian about his place, without using
+a tomahawk for a brand.”
+
+“You know him very well?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Lanpher ignored the question.
+
+“Cassidy had forbidden any of the Circle Cross outfit to come on to the
+Tomahawk ranch. This detective was working on the Circle Cross, and he
+was found dead within quarter of a mile of the Tomahawk ranch-house. He
+was on Cassidy’s ranch.
+
+“But it is doubtful whether they can convict him, and if they do, it
+will not bring our cattle back. I do not think that Cassidy is the
+rustler. It is not a one-man job, Hartley, and requires more brains
+than any squawman has. In fact, we haven’t the slightest idea where
+the stock has gone. That will be your job--to find out.”
+
+“And duck bullets,” added Hashknife, grinning. “You ask quite a lot,
+mister man. But you ain’t told us everythin’. What is yore big interest
+in Cassidy?”
+
+“Interest!” Lanpher fairly spat the word, as he reached into a pocket
+and drew out an envelope.
+
+For a moment he hesitated, but drew out the letter and handed it to
+Hashknife.
+
+“I think that will explain it to you,” he said evenly.
+
+The letter was postmarked at Wolf Wells, and read:
+
+    Dad, you might as well save your breath and make the best of
+    things. Regardless of what you say or do, I am going to stick
+    with Cassidy. And what is more, I am going to marry Lorna one of
+    these days. I haven’t seen any of the boys of the Circle Cross
+    for quite a while.
+
+    I suppose I am to be classed with Cassidy’s alleged bunch of
+    rustlers, as you intimated in your letter. Well, all right, I
+    don’t mind. This is a wide, wide world and I am twenty-one.
+
+    Your affectionate son, BEN.
+
+Hashknife folded up the letter and handed it back to Lanpher.
+
+“Do you understand what it means?” queried Lanpher hoarsely.
+
+“Who’s Lorna?”
+
+“Cassidy’s daughter--a half-breed.”
+
+“Well,” Hashknife frowned for a moment and looked up at Lanpher with a
+quizzical smile.
+
+“She ain’t never scalped anybody, has she?”
+
+“Scalped?” Lanpher stared at Hashknife. “Why--uh--does this appear as
+something--er--funny?”
+
+Lanpher’s face was red with indignation.
+
+“Not exactly funny,” agreed Hashknife, serious again. “But I don’t see
+where you ought to chaw up yore own shirt over it, Lanpher.”
+
+“You don’t? Do you think I want my son to marry an Indian?”
+
+“She’s only half-Indian.”
+
+“All right, half-Indian! I don’t want her!”
+
+“Well! You ain’t gettin’ her, are yuh?” blurted Sleepy. “He said it was
+a wide, wide world and----”
+
+“Wide world, fiddlesticks! He talks big, because he thinks he’s a man.
+Bennie wants to pose. A martyred son, and all that kind of rubbish.
+Marry that ---- Indian? I guess not.”
+
+“Pardner, yo’re doin’ a lot of guessin’,” smiled Hashknife. “This here
+love thing is a funny old bug. Ain’t nobody ever found a cure for it.
+And as far as the Injun girl is concerned, she’s half-American.”
+
+“Her father is Irish as Paddy’s pig!”
+
+“Her mother is American,” reminded Hashknife softly.
+
+Lanpher scowled into the fire and nodded slowly.
+
+“That’s true.”
+
+Hashknife yawned and got to his feet.
+
+“Well, Sleepy, I reckon we better be goin’.”
+
+“Yeah,” agreed Sleepy sourly, “we’ll be wadin’ back down the hill.”
+
+“But we haven’t come to any agreement,” protested Lanpher. “You’ll take
+the job, won’t you?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“I don’t think so. It ain’t noways a healthy place to horn into, and
+if three cattle detectives have failed, I don’t see where two ordinary
+punchers stand a chance.”
+
+“Afraid?” Lanpher’s voice was slightly contemptuous.
+
+“Very likely,” agreed Hashknife dryly.
+
+“And Wheaton said you had the nerve of the ----. I’ll show you his
+letter.”
+
+“But he neglected to say that we also placed quite a value on our own
+heads,” grinned Hashknife. “Still, it might not be as bad as it looks,
+Sleepy. Yo’re always honin’ for action, cowboy; suppose we take this
+job.”
+
+“Then don’t blame me if we both get killed, Hashknife.”
+
+“That’s fine!” applauded Lanpher. “I’ll pay you one thousand dollars
+apiece to tackle the job. If you show me where our cattle have gone,
+I’ll double it. I don’t know you, but Wheaton said you were the only
+one----”
+
+“I’m goin’ to whip Bill Wheaton for lyin’ about me,” interrupted
+Hashknife. “There’s two liars in Arizona, and Bill Wheaton is both of
+them.”
+
+Lanpher laughed as he crossed to a table and wrote two checks.
+
+“That will be the best money I ever spent, I think,” he remarked, as he
+handed them to the two cowboys.
+
+“We’ll use the word ‘most,’” grinned Sleepy, squinting at the check. It
+was the biggest check he had ever seen.
+
+“Pay to the order of Sleepy Stevens, one thousand dollars. Holy
+henhawks! I betcha I won’t sleep a wink.”
+
+“Now, don’t go and spend it foolishly,” laughed Lanpher.
+
+“Nossir.” Sleepy folded it and shoved it deep in his pocket. “That
+stays right in the old poke until I can find a place where they sell
+rubber-boots.”
+
+They were laughing when the butler came in, apologetic for the
+intrusion, and spoke a man’s name to Lanpher.
+
+“Tell him I’ll be out in a moment, Parker.”
+
+“Well, we’ll be movin’,” said Hashknife, picking up his hat. “T’morrow
+we’ll head for the Ghost Hills, Lanpher.”
+
+“Fine. I’ll wire Trainor tonight and tell him to----”
+
+“Nope.” Hashknife stopped him. “You lay off that stuff. Me and you and
+Sleepy are the only ones that need to know. There’s a danged smooth gang
+in there, Lanpher. Remember, they spotted them detectives.”
+
+“Well, that’s true, Hartley.”
+
+Lanpher shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Go ahead and do it in your own way.”
+
+He led the way out of the room, and as they neared the front door, a man
+stepped over and spoke to Lanpher. He was a well-dressed, thin-featured
+man, slightly gray at the temples and with a trifle of a limp in his
+right leg.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Lanpher,” he said, and nodded to the two cowboys.
+
+“Hello, Carsten,” Lanpher held out his hand cordially, and then
+introduced Hashknife and Sleepy.
+
+“Mr. Carsten is a cattle-buyer,” he explained.
+
+Hashknife nodded and held out his hand to Lanpher, just as the front
+door opened and in came two richly dressed women. One of them was a
+slender, imperious-looking young lady, and the other a middle-aged
+woman, rather fleshily built.
+
+Carsten spoke cordially to both of them, and Lanpher smilingly said--
+
+“Mrs. and Miss Lanpher, I want you to meet Mr. Hartley and Mr. Stevens.”
+
+“And we’re sure pleased t’ meetcha,” grinned Hashknife, shaking hands
+with both of them, although it was obvious that neither of the ladies
+cared for the hand-shaking.
+
+“We’re just makin’ a short call,” explained Hashknife. “Thought we’d
+kinda wade out to see Lanpher before leavin’ town.”
+
+No one seemed inclined to pick up the conversation; so Hashknife said--
+
+“We’re sure pleased t’ meetcha, and if yuh ever drift over into our
+country, drop in and see us.”
+
+The ladies murmured something conventional, but Carsten elevated his
+eyebrows a trifle, as he said--
+
+“Just where is your country, Hartley?”
+
+“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “yuh might say it was anywhere in the Western
+side of the U. S. A.”
+
+“Sort of drifters, eh?”
+
+“Nope.”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“We travel under our own power, Carsten. Good night, folks.”
+
+They went out of the front door and into the fog and rain. The fog-horns
+were sending out their eerie wailings down on the harbor, and the street
+lights gleamed dully at close quarters or faded to mere halo-like spots
+at a few yards distant.
+
+The two cowboys halted on the sidewalk and turned their backs to the
+drifting elements.
+
+“What do yuh make of it, Hashknife?” asked Sleepy, his teeth chattering
+in spite of himself.
+
+“I dunno what to make of it, Sleepy; but we’ve already made two thousand
+dollars out of it. Here comes one of them rattlety-bump cars, goin’
+downtown. Do yuh think yuh can ride her on the curves?”
+
+“I’ll ride inside and lock m’ heels,” declared Sleepy. “My gosh, ain’t
+Miss Lanpher a dinger. Whooee! The queen of Sheber never had anythin’
+on her--except a snake.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was very hot in the town of Wolf Wells, a huddle of unpainted
+buildings, strung more or less along a crooked, dusty street. Wolf
+Wells was strictly a cattle town, where no one seemed inflicted with
+too much morals, and its temperature was very hot in Summer and below
+zero in Winter, which probably accounted for the weather-beaten
+appearance of the whole place.
+
+A branch railroad wound its crooked way through the Ghost Hills to
+Wolf Wells, but the train service seemed in the hands of the train
+crews, rather than in any semblance of a schedule. Wolf Wells was the
+county-seat.
+
+Just now the town was fairly well-filled with people. It was Saturday,
+which accounted for some of the activity, but the majority of the people
+were interested in the outcome of Pinto Cassidy’s trial for murder.
+
+The jury, a bunch of hard-bitten cattlemen, were still deliberating,
+after thirty hours of being locked up in a hot jury-room. Near one
+of the hitch-racks stood Jim Trainor, half-owner of the Circle Cross
+outfit, talking to “Fat” Fleager, the sheriff.
+
+Trainor was a big man, broad of shoulder and with a face that was as
+inflexible as a piece of granite. His eyes were gray, like the gray of
+tempered steel, and his jaw jutted belligerently, as he bit reflectively
+at his lower lip.
+
+The sheriff was built after the manner of a bed-slat, and from the
+sadness of his thin face, the bloodhound-like eyes, with their heavy
+pouches, one might well expect him to be the proprietor of a
+non-paying undertaking establishment. Both men were dressed in range
+clothes, and Fat Fleager seemed to be continually in danger of losing
+his belt, which hung draped around his narrow hips. The waistband of
+his overalls seemed to cause him much concern also, and the arm-holes
+of his vest continually crawled out over the points of his narrow
+shoulders.
+
+They were both looking at a young man, dressed in cowboy garb, who
+crossed the street past them and went into a saloon. He was a slender
+young man, unshaven, unhandsome, but there was a devil-may-care
+slouch to his walk and to the angle of his sombrero. He did not look
+at Trainor and the sheriff.
+
+“There’s a ---- fool that’s breedin’ a scab for himself,” said Trainor,
+as the young man passed into the saloon.
+
+“Yeah.” The sheriff nodded wearily. “I s’pose.”
+
+“No brains. Old man’s got lots of money. ---- kid could pick out a
+society girl for a wife, but he ain’t got no brains.”
+
+“Lanpher got lots of money?” Indifferently.
+
+“Ought to have.”
+
+“Rich kid come to cowland and learned papa’s business, eh?” The sheriff
+actually smiled at his own humor.
+
+“Lanpher ought to come out here and kick the kid back to Frisco,”
+growled Trainor.
+
+“Uh-huh,” dubiously. “Mebbe it wouldn’t be safe. The kid got drunk last
+night in the Lily of the Valley saloon, and he backed ag’in’ the bar,
+with a gun in his hand, and recited some startlin’ pedigrees. But nobody
+called him.”
+
+“Felt sorry for him, I suppose.”
+
+“Thasso?”
+
+The sheriff squinted at Trainor.
+
+“That kid took seven dollars away from Lonesome Hobbs day before
+yesterday, shootin’ with a six-gun. I throwed the tin-cans for ’em
+m’self. Hobbs ain’t so danged amachoor, y’betcha.”
+
+“Well, let him go ahead.” Trainor shrugged his shoulders, as if to
+dismiss the subject.
+
+“Oh, he’ll go too far, that’s a cinch,” said the sheriff. “Kids always
+does. I wish that danged jury would make up their minds pretty soon.
+There’s Cassidy’s girl over in front of the hardware store now. I betcha
+she’s lookin’ for Ben Lanpher.”
+
+Trainor turned and squinted closely at her. She was about average
+height, with a thin oval face, as brown as her maternal ancestors,
+but showing little of the aboriginal blood. Her hair was dark and
+worn in two heavy braids, but her eyes were blue. Her calico dress
+was well-made, even though a trifle gaudy in color, and she walked
+with the easy grace of a jungle-bred animal.
+
+“Irish and Injun,” muttered Trainor. “----, what a combination! A
+blue-eyed Injun. If she wanted a weapon and you showed her a brick-bat
+and a scalpin’ knife, which would she take?”
+
+“That’s a question,” grinned the sheriff. “But she’s a ---- pretty girl,
+jist the same, Trainor.”
+
+“Yes, she’s ---- pretty.”
+
+“And she’ll make a good wife for some man.”
+
+“Hm-m-m,” mused Trainor. “I reckon she will.”
+
+Two cowboys were crossing the street and Trainor turned from looking at
+Lorna Cassidy to give them a sharp glance.
+
+“Who are those fellers, Fleager?” he asked.
+
+“One feller--the tall one--is named Hartley. I talked with him this
+mornin’ at the feed corral. They rode in last night from the Encinas
+country.”
+
+“Goin’ to stay here?”
+
+“Lookin’ for jobs, I reckon. The tall feller is a nice spoken sort of
+a jigger, but he made me feel like he was laughin’ at me all the time.
+There ain’t nothin’ soft and tender about either of ’em.”
+
+“What did he say that made yuh feel he was laughin’ at yuh?”
+
+“Oh-h-h, well--nothin’ much. He was tellin’ about a feller that he knew
+who was so durned thin that his clothes wouldn’t stay on him, and so he
+wore his union-suit on the outside. He said it sure looked awful, but
+gave him the full use of his two hands.”
+
+The sheriff hitched up his pants and belt and spat reflectively, while a
+grin flashed across Trainor’s thin lips.
+
+“Anyway,” declared the sheriff, “I ain’t goin’ to try it. Mebbe we
+better go over and see if there’s any news from the jury.”
+
+As they started across the street, Hashknife and Sleepy came out of the
+saloon and caught up with them. Hashknife spoke to the sheriff.
+
+“You ain’t puttin’ on this kind of weather for our benefit, are yuh,
+pardner?”
+
+“This ain’t so hot,” said the sheriff.
+
+“No, it ain’t exactly hot. I knowed a man once that was so danged thin
+that----”
+
+“Your name’s Hartley, ain’t it?” interrupted the sheriff. “Shake hands
+with Mr. Trainor, of the Circle Cross.”
+
+Hashknife shook hands with Trainor and introduced Sleepy to both men.
+
+“You two fellers just driftin’ through?” queried Trainor casually.
+
+Hashknife grinned and shook his head.
+
+“Feller asked the same thing about a week ago. No-o-o, I wouldn’t say
+that we’re exactly driftin’, Mr. Trainor.”
+
+“We’re kinda lookin’ for jobs,” declared Sleepy. “We ain’t askin’ for
+work--for jobs.”
+
+Trainor laughed.
+
+“I’m full-handed right now, or will be, as soon as that jury finds out
+what they’re goin’ to do. My foreman is on the jury, yuh see.”
+
+“Seems like they was havin’ trouble decidin’ the case, accordin’ to what
+I can hear,” observed Hashknife. “Old man Cassidy ain’t very pop’lar, is
+he?”
+
+“Not very,” admitted Trainor. “I reckon they’ll cinch him.”
+
+The sheriff shook his head and shifted his chew.
+
+“Nossir, I don’t think so. ’F they was goin’ to cinch him they’d ’a’
+done it hours ago. Cow-juries don’t work that-away.”
+
+“They sure don’t,” grinned Hashknife. “They’re just as liable to
+bring in a verdict of arson ag’in’ the judge as to settle the guilt
+or innocence of old man Cassidy.”
+
+“And still they’re twelve men, good and true,” grunted Trainor.
+
+“Good and true don’t mean that they’ve got any brains.”
+
+“Here comes ‘Lonesome’ Hobbs,” said the sheriff, pointing down the
+street toward a short, fat, bow-legged individual, who was coming toward
+them as fast as his feet would carry him. As he drew near he removed his
+hat, exposing an almost totally bald head, which made him look like a
+very fat and very much overheated baby.
+
+“Juj-jury’s made up their dud-danged minds,” he panted hoarsely. “Do yuh
+know where the juj-judge is, Fat?”
+
+“He’s over in the Lily of the Valley, I reckon. Better go over and roust
+him out, Lonesome.”
+
+“Uh-huh. I’ll git ’m.”
+
+Lonesome bow-legged his way across the street, fanning himself with his
+hat, while Hashknife and Sleepy followed Trainor and the sheriff down to
+the dance-hall, which was used as a courtroom.
+
+Lonesome’s search for the judge had spread the news that the jury had
+reached a decision, and the court filled rapidly. Hashknife and Sleepy
+secured seats near the front of the room.
+
+Seated just beyond them was Lorna Cassidy, and in a few minutes she was
+joined by a stout, white-haired man, carrying a mass of legal-looking
+papers.
+
+“That’s Mitchell, the Frisco lawyer,” whispered a man near Hashknife. “I
+heard that young Lanpher hired him to defend old man Cassidy. I betcha
+it cost him some money.”
+
+A few minutes later the sheriff came in from the rear of the hall, and
+with him was Pinto Cassidy, a little, old, wizened character. Cassidy
+was typically Irish of face, and his steady glance at the audience
+seemed to carry a fighting challenge to any or all of them.
+
+But his seamed old face softened as he looked at his daughter, and he
+smiled softly, patting her on the shoulder. They talked together for
+a moment and then Ben Lanpher came swaggering up the aisle to sit
+down beside her. He was flushed with drink, arrogant with the feeling
+that every one was against him, and looked defiantly at every one in
+the room.
+
+The judge came in and stood beside his desk. He was an old man, white of
+hair, very dignified. For a moment he looked about the room and rapped
+sharply on his desk. The buzz of conversation ceased.
+
+“Just to say to you,” said the judge clearly, “that the court will
+brook no demonstration whatever. You will curb your feelings while
+within these walls.”
+
+He turned and sat down as the jury filed in. They were a tired-looking
+crew of men, stolid, some of them seemingly half-angry. They sat down
+in the jury-box and looked expectantly at the judge, who said--
+
+“Gentlemen, have you reached a decision?”
+
+A big, raw-boned cowman, the foreman of the jury, got to his feet slowly
+and faced the judge.
+
+“We have not,” he replied evenly, “and we can’t. There’s a ---- fool
+among us that----” He looked meaningly at a hard-faced, squint-eyed
+cowboy on the end of the row--“that ain’t got enough brains to grease
+a needle with. He’s held us up for--well, all the time we’ve been in
+there, and we ask that you dismiss us.”
+
+The squint-eyed cowboy continued to study the opposite wall, paying
+no attention to the foreman’s words. The judge cleared his throat
+raspingly.
+
+“Then you find it impossible to reach a verdict?”
+
+“Yeah, unless we want to foller that half-witted gopher’s ideas and hang
+old man Cassidy, judge. If it wasn’t murder to kill a feller like him,
+he’d ’a’ been dead eleven times right now.”
+
+“And that’s no ---- lie,” echoed a disgruntled member.
+
+The judge sighed. He had been many years in cow-land and knew there
+would be no use to reprimand these men for such language in the
+court-room. They were all on the ragged edge, and the only thing he
+could do would be to dismiss them, which he did; thanking them for
+their efforts.
+
+Ben Lanpher got to his feet and spoke directly to the judge:
+
+“What about Cassidy? Does he get off now?”
+
+The judge shook his head.
+
+“No, I am sorry to say that he will have to stand trial before another
+jury.”
+
+“There’s a ---- of a lot of justice in that!” roared Ben angrily.
+“Eleven of ’em wanted to turn him loose, and just because one man----”
+
+“Hang on to yourself, Lanpher!” snapped the sheriff, taking him by the
+arm. “You’re in a courtroom--not a saloon.”
+
+“That’s right,” gritted the boy. “We might get justice in a saloon, but
+we can’t get it here.”
+
+The sheriff turned and looked at the judge questioningly, but the judge
+shook his head sadly and turned back toward the rear door. The jury had
+got to their feet, and the sheriff crossed quickly to them and moved in
+close to the squint-eyed cause of their disgust.
+
+“I’ll walk out with yuh,” said the sheriff.
+
+“You better walk with him,” grunted one of the jury meaningly.
+
+“Yes, and you better stay with him,” added Ben Lanpher.
+
+The squint-eyed one glanced at Lanpher and the lines around his mouth
+twitched sharply, but he did not reply. Hashknife and Sleepy left the
+courtroom and went back to the street, where men were discussing the
+trial.
+
+A cowboy, somewhat the worse for liquor, came up to them.
+
+“Kinda looks like they was goin’ to have a hard time convictin’ old
+Cassidy,” he observed. “I’ll betcha that jury had a ---- of a time.
+But you mark my word, this ain’t all settled yet.”
+
+“No?” queried Hashknife. “How’s that, pardner?”
+
+“Huh! Lemme tell yuh somethin’. That squint-eyed ‘Smoky’ Cole’ll make
+’em pay for what they said about him, y’betcha. He’s plumb salty, he
+is. I _sabe_ that jasper. Any time yuh think yo’re runnin’ a blazer on
+that son-of-a-gun, yo’re foolin’ yourself, thasall.”
+
+“Bad, is he?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“I’ll nod when yuh ask me that,” grinned the cowboy.
+
+“You knowed him a long time--before he came here?”
+
+The cowboy sobered a trifle and hitched up his belt.
+
+“Tell yuh what I’ll do, I’ll buy a drink.”
+
+“Who does Smoky Cole work for?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“He’s foreman of the Circle Cross. Works for Trainor. I’m named Edwards,
+but folks calls me ‘Bility.’”
+
+“Is that yore real name, or is it short for Ability?”
+
+“----, I dunno. Yuh see--”
+
+He grinned and spilled half a sack of tobacco past his cigaret paper.
+
+“Yuh see, I been with the Flyin’ M f’r a long time, and one time some
+fellers was thinkin’ about buyin’ old man Shappee out. They was arguin’
+about things, when I comes up to see the old man, and one of ’em says--
+
+“‘Is this one of yore assets?’
+
+“And old man Shappee says:
+
+“‘----, no! That feller is a liability.’ ”
+
+The cowboy laughed and spilled the rest of his tobacco.
+
+“Do yuh know what it means?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“----, no! And I don’t care. Let’s go. It got me a name.”
+
+They went into the Lily of the Valley, which was the biggest saloon in
+the town, and found Trainor at the bar, talking with Lonesome Hobbs.
+The place was fairly well-filled and the games of chance were being
+well-patronized.
+
+They accepted of Bility’s hospitality and while they were drinking,
+Ben Lanpher came in. He drank two big drinks of raw liquor before he
+paid any attention to those at the bar. His eyes were red from liquor
+and his jaw sagged listlessly.
+
+Hashknife studied him closely and decided that Bennie Lanpher had the
+makings of a bad-man. He had evidently practised with a six-gun until
+he had an exalted idea of his own ability, and plenty of liquor had
+made him careless.
+
+Ben turned and looked at Hashknife, who smiled softly. Bennie was in no
+mood to have any one smile at him, and his weak jaw immediately assumed
+a belligerent angle.
+
+“See anythin’ funny about me?” he grunted.
+
+Hashknife ignored the question and turned back facing the bar. But
+Ben was not to be denied. Something seemed to tell him that this tall
+cowpuncher had smiled at him--possibly laughed at him.
+
+He shoved away from the bar and stepped in behind Hashknife.
+
+“See anythin’ funny about me?” he asked.
+
+Hashknife turned lazily and looked him straight in the eyes.
+
+“Yeah, I see a lot of funny things about yuh, young feller. If they
+wasn’t also awful sad, I’d laugh like ----”
+
+“Is--that--so?” Lanpher spaced his words widely and his right hand eased
+back toward his holster.
+
+“In the first place,” continued Hashknife, “yo’re too young to drink
+so much liquor. First thing yuh know you’ll quit growin’ and always
+look like a half-baked kid. You ain’t got brain enough to see that
+yo’re headin’ plumb into trouble--mebbe a rope. Them is some of the
+reasons why I ain’t laughin’ at yuh.”
+
+Lanpher laughed mockingly, loudly and then his teeth fairly snapped.
+The room had gone quiet and every one had heard what Hashknife had
+said, although he had spoken quietly.
+
+“Take it kinda easy,” advised Hashknife. “I’m a stranger to you and we
+ain’t got no quarrel.”
+
+“Backin’ up, eh?” snarled Lanpher. “Next time you laugh at a man, you’ll
+find out who he is first.”
+
+Lanpher’s hand was on the butt of his gun and his body tensed forward,
+expecting that Hashknife would accept his challenge. But Hashknife’s
+eyes squinted just past Lanpher’s head and his left eyelid drew down
+quickly in a deliberate wink.
+
+Lanpher’s head twisted as quick as a flash; thinking that there was
+danger right behind him, and before he could turn back Hashknife’s left
+hand had caught him by the right wrist, while Hashknife’s open right
+hand splatted against the side of his jaw, throwing him off his balance
+and placing him powerless to do anything, except swear.
+
+And Lanpher did plenty of the latter. Hashknife held him helpless, while
+the crowd moved in close to enjoy the sight.
+
+“Yuh got a lot of things to learn before yuh can be a honest-to-gosh
+bad-man,” explained Hashknife. “And one of ’em is to never turn yore
+head.”
+
+“Lemme go!” wailed Lanpher.
+
+“All right, I’ll let yuh go,” agreed Hashknife, “but you’ve got to agree
+to one thing.”
+
+“All right, ---- yuh. What is it?”
+
+“As soon as yuh get yore balance, we’ll both start shootin’.”
+
+The crowd behind Lanpher parted with great alacrity.
+
+But Lanpher did not care for the conditions. Hashknife flung him away
+and Lanpher staggered into a card-table before he regained his balance.
+Then he went straight out of the door, without looking back.
+
+“That’s tamin’ ’em,” declared Trainor, who had been an interested
+observer. “It was just what he needed, Hartley. I’ll buy a drink.”
+
+The crowd went back to their games, but the incident was not forgotten.
+Hashknife was a stranger, which was worthy of notice in Wolf Wells,
+where few strangers ever came, and he had demonstrated that he was able
+to take care of himself in a way that appealed to the range folk.
+
+“I wish I had a job for you fellers,” said Trainor, as they leaned on
+the bar, “but I’m plumb filled up right now.”
+
+“We ain’t exactly dependent on a job right now,” explained Hashknife,
+“but a feller don’t like to go broke before he lands a job. Who’d be a
+good rancher to see about a job?”
+
+“I dunno. Yuh might see old man Shappee. He owns the Flyin’ M, but I
+suppose he’s got a full crew.”
+
+“How much of a crew do you have, Trainor?”
+
+“I’m only hirin’ three men now. Nothin’ much to do this time of the
+year, except to kinda watch the waterholes. We’re breakin’ a few horses,
+too. Usually I have five or six men. I had kinda bad luck lately. Mebbe
+yuh heard about two of my men gettin’ shot.”
+
+“Got shot?” Hashknife shook his head. “We ain’t been here long enough to
+hear much gossip. Was it for the killin’ of one of them that Cassidy is
+bein’ tried?”
+
+“Yeah, the last one. Mebbe he killed the first one, I dunno.”
+
+“He don’t look like a killer.” This from Sleepy.
+
+“No, he don’t, but he’s meaner than a snake.”
+
+“Just in what way?” Hashknife was curious, and Trainor glanced quickly
+at him.
+
+“Oh, just mean. He said he’d shoot the first Circle Cross man he found
+on the Tomahawk.”
+
+Hashknife grinned.
+
+“He must have a grudge ag’in’ yore outfit, Trainor.”
+
+Trainor grunted an unintelligible reply and turned as some one called
+his name. It was an undersized cowboy, with a limp cigaret glued to his
+protruding underlip.
+
+“You seen Whitey Anderson?” he asked.
+
+“Not today,” replied Trainor.
+
+“He was lookin’ for yuh about fifteen minutes ago.”
+
+“All right, Shorty.”
+
+Trainor accepted another drink and left the saloon.
+
+“Who’s Anderson?” asked Hashknife of the bartender.
+
+“Depot agent.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+They drifted outside and found Lonesome Hobbs sitting on a hitch-rack.
+How he ever got himself up that high was a mystery, but he was up there.
+He nodded to Hashknife and Sleepy and slid over to give them room.
+
+“I seen yuh have yore fuss with young Lanpher,” he said huskily. “Bub-by
+gosh, he needed a jolt. How’d yuh ever think up that winkin’ idea?”
+
+“Used my head,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“That’s it,” nodded Lonesome. “Feller’s got to use his brains--if he’s
+gug-got any. I can think of the best doggone schemes, but I forget ’em
+right when I need ’em bad. Feller told me a good scheme once. Said to
+step hard on a feller’s feet, when yo’re fightin’ him and he’ll fall
+down. I tried it--once.”
+
+“Didn’t it work?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“Not fer me, it didn’t. I reckon that was only part of the trick; the
+rest of it was to keep the other feller from knockin’ ---- out of yuh
+until yuh could fu-find his feet. Anyway, that’s how she ’pears to
+me.”
+
+They were laughing as Trainor came up to the rack and untied his roan
+horse.
+
+“Goin’ home?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah. Wish I had a job for you two. Hope you get one.”
+
+“Much obliged,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ll swindle somebody out of a few
+month’s wages. _Adios._”
+
+“Seems like a right nice sort of a feller,” observed Hashknife, as
+Trainor rode away.
+
+“Who, Trainor? Best there is, y’betcha. Danged good cowman, top-notch
+puncher and reliable as ----”
+
+“Which is some reliability,” agreed Hashknife. “We’d kinda like to work
+for him.”
+
+“Well, I dunno whether I would or not.” Lonesome pursed his lips
+thoughtfully. “I’m kinda superstitious, don’tcha know it? I figgers
+that things happens three times before they quits. There’s been two of
+the Circle Cross punchers killed lately. They was leaded considerable,
+too.
+
+“Figgerin’ the way I do, there’s another one to go. It don’t always work
+out that-away, of course, bub-but I ain’t the kind of a jasper that goes
+dead ag’in’ my own hunches.”
+
+“Why do yuh reckon they was killed?” queried Sleepy.
+
+“Why.” Lonesome leaned his elbows on his knees and shook his head. “I
+ain’t prepared to say.”
+
+“Any idea who killed ’em?”
+
+“Well, they’re tryin’ old Cassidy for the last one.”
+
+“Where is Cassidy’s ranch?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Lonesome jerked his thumb in a northerly direction.
+
+“Out thataway. Yuh take the main road out there, and a little over two
+miles she forks, but don’t take the right-hand fork, ’cause that goes
+to the Circle Cross. Keep on goin’ about a quarter-mile and take the
+left-hand road.
+
+“It’s about seven miles to the Tomahawk, and about five to the Circle
+Cross. I’d keep plumb away from the Tomahawk, if I was you. They ain’t
+a danged bit friendly.”
+
+“But Cassidy is where he can’t hurt anybody.”
+
+“No, he can’t, but there’s young Lanpher livin’ there, and Jimmy
+Droop-drawers.”
+
+Hashknife laughed outright.
+
+“For gosh sake, what a name!”
+
+“He’s a half-breed,” grinned Lonesome, “and that name fits him like a
+plaster. Jimmy was absent the day they was passin’ around the brains,
+but he sure can shoot.”
+
+“You got kind of a sweet lot of folks around here,” observed Hashknife.
+“Looks to me like Wolf Wells had enough gunmen to hold up the reputation
+of a bigger place.”
+
+“Aw, we ain’t botherin’ with gunmen.” Lonesome spat dryly and shook his
+head. “We ain’t afraid of nothin’ we can see, y’betcha. It’s the things
+we can’t see that gits under our hides.”
+
+“Such as what?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Cows that evaporate, for instance.”
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy looked closely at Lonesome, but his face was deadly
+serious.
+
+“Well,” said Hashknife slowly. “I’ve heard of evaporated milk. Mebbe
+that’s where it come from, Lonesome.”
+
+“Mum-mebbe,” dubiously. “Anyway, it ain’t a fav’rite subject with me,
+gents. I reckon I’ll be goin’ back to the office. You ain’t found no
+jobs yet?”
+
+He almost fell off the hitch-rack, without waiting for an answer,
+recovered his hat, which rolled under a horse, and bow-legged his way
+across the street.
+
+Sleepy grinned and looked at Hashknife.
+
+“What do you think of things, Hashknife?”
+
+“Well, it’s too danged early in the game to make any remarks, but I’ll
+say there’s a lot of folks around here that might start shootin’ any
+time.
+
+“I don’t think a lot of old man Lanpher’s offspring, but I do like his
+pardner. Trainor seems like a regular he-man. The sheriff has only one
+thing to recommend him, and that is the fact he’s so danged thin that
+nobody could hit him with anythin’ bigger than a .22 rifle.
+
+“Lonesome Hobbs is all right. Old man Cassidy might ’a’ killed that
+puncher, but I have my doubts. His girl is danged pretty, and William
+Lanpher might be danged well honored to think that she’d look at his
+slack-headed son. Outside of that, I’m hungry. Let’s go and eat.”
+
+“All right,” agreed Sleepy. “I kinda feel that we’re goin’ to like Wolf
+Wells. It kinda reminds me of the old Willer Crick outfit, Hashknife.
+Everybody suspicious of everybody else. I sure hope they don’t suspicion
+us.”
+
+“They will, if we don’t get a job, Sleepy.”
+
+As they crossed the street, Ben Lanpher, Cassidy’s squaw and Lorna
+Cassidy were getting into a light wagon. Lanpher saw them, but did not
+look up as they passed. The girl gave them a keen glance and the two
+cowboys lifted their hats. As they went into a restaurant, Hashknife
+looked back and the girl had turned her head and was watching them.
+
+“I hope she knows us next time she sees us,” said Sleepy, grinning.
+
+“I hope they all do,” replied Hashknife. “I’d hate to be mistaken for
+some of the boys from the Circle Cross.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Tomahawk was a typical squaw-man’s ranch. There was little semblance
+of order in the locations of the ranch-house, barns or corrals, and the
+buildings looked as if they might collapse in the next breeze.
+
+The weather-beaten ranch-house, a low, rambling affair, was sway-backed
+from old age and the weight of many snows, and the barn stood, as a
+cowboy might express it, kinda antegodlin’ to everythin’. The corral
+fences were lopsided and badly in need of repair.
+
+A few mongrel chickens strayed around the littered front yard of the
+ranch-house, clucking wildly after the winged grasshoppers; a family
+of magpies chattered in the cottonwoods behind the barn, while down
+in a corral a hungry calf bawled loudly.
+
+It was the day following the dismissal of the jury. In the long
+living-room Ben Lanpher humped over in a dilapidated rocking-chair,
+staring moodily at a crumpled envelope. His hair was matted, his face
+unshaven and his clothes bore evidence that he had slept in them--and
+not on a bed.
+
+Lorna Cassidy leaned against the side of the adobe fireplace, looking
+with troubled eyes at Lanpher, while near her the squat figure of Mrs.
+Cassidy was seated on a low stool. At the far end of the room, sitting
+on the floor, with his knees drawn up to his chin, was the half-breed
+cowboy, known by the unlovely title of Jimmy Droop-drawers.
+
+Jimmy was a typical half-breed, in which the Indian blood seemed to
+predominate strongly. His lower lip was thick and pendulous, his
+eyes mere slits above his high cheek-bones, and his garb, with the
+exception of his high-heeled boots, badly run-over at the heels, was
+entirely aboriginal. It was plainly evident that his beaded-blanket
+pants had not been made by a tailor, because the seat was entirely
+too commodious--which accounted for his cognomen.
+
+Ben Lanpher crumpled the letter in his hand and got to his feet.
+
+“Well--” He tried to laugh, but it was only a grimace. “Well, that
+settles the cathop, I suppose. The old man has cut off my credit--told
+me that I could have no more of his money.”
+
+He turned his head and looked at Lorna.
+
+“Well, why don’t somebody say something? I’m too ---- dry even to curse
+him.”
+
+“There is nothing to say,” said Lorna softly.
+
+“Ain’t there?” Ben laughed hoarsely. “It means that we won’t be able to
+hire a lawyer for the next trial. I’m broke.”
+
+“Why need lawyer?” asked Mrs. Cassidy. “My man never kill cowboy. Only
+one man think so.”
+
+“That ---- Smoky Cole!” snapped Ben. “I’ll fill him so full of holes
+that he’ll----”
+
+“And who will pay for the lawyer to keep you from hanging?” asked Lorna
+quickly.
+
+“You don’t need a lawyer when you kill a man in self-defense.”
+
+“Yo’ look out,” advised Jimmy thickly. “Cole bad man with a gun. Mebbe
+yo’ need doctor--not lawyer.”
+
+“Too much talk about kill,” said the stolid old squaw, as she slowly
+filled a pipe with plug tobacco. “No good to talk.”
+
+“Tha’s jus’ right,” nodded Jimmy. “Old Minnie know. Big talk, small
+medicine.”
+
+“Who were those two men who passed, when we were ready to leave Wolf
+Wells yesterday?” asked Lorna.
+
+“Them two?” Ben took a half-filled bottle from his hip pocket and
+reached for a tin cup on the table.
+
+“I dunno who they are. Couple of smart cowpunchers, I guess.”
+
+“Ben, why don’t you go back to your home?”
+
+“Huh?”
+
+Ben took the cup away from his lips and stared at her.
+
+“Why don’t I go home?”
+
+“Yes--back to your people.”
+
+Ben laughed harshly.
+
+“Why should I go back to them?”
+
+“They are your people. You don’t belong here. They would be glad to have
+you come back.”
+
+“Whatcha talkin’ about, Lorna?”
+
+Lanpher was half-angry, as he got to his feet and walked over to her.
+
+“I told yuh I’d stay here and see that the old man was cleared. Dad
+wanted me to stay with the Circle Cross, but me and Trainor couldn’t
+get along. He treated me like I was a kid. Told me not to come over
+here. Said that you was just a ---- Injun, and that your father would
+shoot me if I came on the Tomahawk ranch.”
+
+Lorna turned and stared out of the window, her lips shut tight, as if to
+hold back a flood of bitterness. Then--
+
+“Well, I suppose he was right, Ben.”
+
+“What do we care?” laughed Ben hoarsely. “If I want to marry an Injun,
+that’s my business, ain’t it?”
+
+Lorna shook her head.
+
+“No, you are just foolish, I think. You go back to your people and
+forget everybody in the Ghost Hills.”
+
+“Not by a ---- sight! When I go back to California--to Frisco, you are
+going with me, Lorna.”
+
+The old squaw took her pipe slowly from her lips and looked up at Ben.
+
+“You are very big ---- fool, I think,” she declared.
+
+“Is that so?”
+
+Ben turned to the old squaw.
+
+“Mebbe you’d have somethin’ to say about it?”
+
+She nodded slowly and began puffing on her pipe.
+
+Ben shrugged his shoulders and poured himself another drink. He had
+imbibed so much liquor during the last two weeks that his system
+shrieked for more.
+
+“Why don’t you quit drinking?” asked Lorna. “When you came here you did
+not drink.”
+
+“Lot of things I didn’t do then.”
+
+Ben wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed uncertainly,
+as he looked closely at his almost depleted flask.
+
+“I’ve got to go to town and get more hooch.”
+
+“What will you do when your money is all gone?”
+
+“Do?”
+
+Ben laughed and picked up his hat.
+
+“Rob a bank, I guess. Maybe I’ll join the Ghost Hills gang. By ---- I’ll
+bet they’d take me in.”
+
+He turned and walked out of the door, staggering slightly, as he
+clumped off the porch and headed for the barn. Jimmy, the half-breed,
+walked to the door where he leaned lazily against the sill, puffing on
+his cigaret.
+
+The old squaw did not turn her head as Ben went out, but continued to
+puff at her pipe, while Lorna moved from the fireplace and stood beside
+the table, her shapely fingers picking at the cloth.
+
+“Just a ---- Injun,” she said softly, sadly. “Just that and nothing
+more. Am I any different or worse than other girls?”
+
+The squaw knocked the dottle from her pipe and got clumsily to her feet,
+which were shod in buckskin.
+
+“You good girl, Lorna. Good Injun just as good as white people.”
+
+“You ---- right!” agreed Jimmy from the doorway. “You jus’ right, Lorna.
+To ---- with Trainor.”
+
+Jimmy turned away from the door and came back toward them.
+
+“Ben gone to town,” he announced, and added. “Too much whisky no good.”
+
+He squatted at the fireplace and started to roll another cigaret, but
+his trained ears heard a sound outside and he arose swiftly and his
+hand swung back to jerk his revolver holster into position.
+
+Came the scrape of a footstep on the narrow porch and Jim Trainor’s
+voice called--
+
+“Anybody home?”
+
+“Somebody home,” replied Jimmy huskily. He was just a trifle afraid of
+the big man from the Circle Cross.
+
+Trainor’s huge frame fairly blocked the door as he came in from the
+porch. Lorna looked straight at him, but the old squaw, after the
+manner of her kind, paid him no heed. Jimmy watched him closely.
+
+“Hello, Lorna,” grinned Trainor, “I got to wonderin’ how you folks were
+gettin’ along so I came over to see. Where’s Ben Lanpher?”
+
+“He go to town,” said Jimmy. “Go jus’ now.”
+
+“Gone down to get drunk again, I suppose.”
+
+Trainor sat down in the rocking-chair and threw his hat on the table.
+He seemed entirely at home, even though his welcome had not been any
+too cordial.
+
+“Why do you come here?” asked Lorna.
+
+“Why?” Trainor laughed shortly. “I told you I wanted to see how you were
+all getting along, Lorna.”
+
+“That should not take long to find out, Mr. Trainor.”
+
+“No, I guess that’s a fact. Too bad about that jury.”
+
+“Too ---- bad,” corrected Jimmy, and was immediately sorry he had
+spoken.
+
+Trainor turned and looked straight at him.
+
+“When I speak to you, I’ll call you by name.”
+
+Jimmy swallowed with difficulty and sidled toward the door. He was not
+of a belligerent disposition and he greatly respected Trainor’s fighting
+ability. At the doorway he turned and fired a parting shot.
+
+“Next time jury agree, mebbe. You know what Pinto Cassidy said about
+Circle Cross men.”
+
+And then Jimmy Droop-drawers faded out of sight. Trainor’s face went
+black for a moment, and the ghost of a smile flitted across the old
+squaw’s face, but Trainor passed it off with a laugh.
+
+“I hope they do agree,” he laughed, “and I don’t think that Pinto
+Cassidy will be so hasty next time.”
+
+“You believe my father killed him?”
+
+Lorna leaned across the table and looked Trainor square in the eyes.
+
+“Well--” Trainor looked away and rubbed his chin with the ball of
+his right thumb. “Well, I hope not, Lorna. But if he did he was only
+making good his threat. Ed Meeker had no business coming over here.
+He knew what Cassidy had said.”
+
+“Who killed the other man--Lloyd Hansen? He wasn’t found on the
+Tomahawk.”
+
+“I don’t know who killed him. But your father ain’t accused of that
+killin’.”
+
+“Why was he killed?” demanded Lorna.
+
+“Why?” Trainor shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows. But that does not
+interest me. Did Ben get a letter from his father lately?”
+
+Lorna turned away from the table and sat down near the old squaw.
+
+“I know nothing about Ben’s mail,” she replied.
+
+Trainor smiled.
+
+“He’s sayin’ that he’s goin’ to marry you, Lorna.”
+
+“I have no strings on his tongue,” indifferently.
+
+“I thought he was lyin’,” smiled Trainor. “His father wrote me that he
+had sent word to Ben that his money supply was cut off. It’s about time,
+I reckon.”
+
+“Ben is a fool,” continued Trainor, when Lorna ignored his statement.
+“His father is wealthy and can give him everything he would want. He
+can marry a white girl and live in a fine house; so why should he stay
+around here?”
+
+“And marry a ---- Injun,” added Lorna.
+
+Trainor looked keenly at her. He remembered saying those same words to
+Ben, and wondered if he had told her.
+
+“Well, you know how city folks look at Indians, Lorna. You don’t look
+like an Injun. If I didn’t know different, I’d never know that you had
+a drop of Indian blood in yuh.”
+
+“What have the Indians ever done to make a white man look down upon
+their blood?” asked Lorna hoarsely. “They only fought for what had
+belonged to them for many years. It was not that they wanted to win
+more, but to keep what they already owned.
+
+“I know. I have read history in school. I have read many tales of the
+Indian--written by men who knew only the one half of the tale--the white
+half. The Indian fought in his own way--the only way he knew.
+
+“The Indian was lazy, because that was his disposition, but the squaw
+was not lazy. And the Indian was honest and sober until the white
+man--that superior race--came to ruin his morals and soul. He taught
+the Indian to lie, steal and drink. Perhaps--” Lorna turned away
+scornfully--“it will take many more years to bring the Indian up to
+the standard which the white man started to teach him many years
+ago.”
+
+Trainor laughed loudly and slapped his thigh.
+
+“Lorna, when you turn loose, I wonder if you’ve got any white blood in
+yuh.”
+
+“I am never ashamed of Indian blood,” she retorted, “but there are times
+when I am ashamed of my white blood.”
+
+“All right,” grinned Trainor. “I don’t blame yuh. Let’s drop the
+subject. I never like to argue with a lady.”
+
+“Bad business,” grunted the old squaw.
+
+“That’s right, Minnie,” agreed Trainor, laughing. “Anyway, I like Lorna
+too well to argue with her.” He got to his feet and picked up his hat.
+
+“I’m going to run in real often,” he stated. “Cassidy won’t get another
+trial before the next term of court, and that’ll be three months from
+now. You’ll probably be needing a little help before he can get cleared,
+and I want yuh to understand that the Circle Cross is willing to help
+yuh in any way we can.”
+
+“Good!” grunted the old squaw.
+
+But Lorna did not express any thanks for his offer. He looked keenly at
+her before he turned toward the door. She gave him a sidelong glance as
+he went out through the door, but it was not a look of gratitude.
+
+She heard him gallop away, going back toward the Circle Cross, and then
+she sat down beside the table. The old squaw had put away her pipe and
+was softly crooning a Sioux cradle-song, a chanting, tuneless thing
+that recited the superiority of the Sioux papoose over anything else on
+earth. It was one of the first things Lorna remembered, but she
+shuddered just now. It seemed so foolish to think that the Indian could
+be superior.
+
+“Perhaps,” she told herself, “it is the white blood that rises above the
+red and makes me dislike Indian songs.”
+
+The squaw finished the song and started all over again. Lorna got to
+her feet and walked to the door, as if to get away from the song, and
+as she looked out into the sunlight, two riders, the two men who had
+lifted their hats to her in Wolf Wells, were riding up to the house.
+
+Jimmy, the half-breed, was working around one of the corrals, but when
+he saw the two men he came up toward the house. Hashknife and Sleepy
+took off their hats and spoke to Lorna pleasantly.
+
+“We was just ridin’ around, ma’am, and thought mebbe we could get a
+drink of water,” explained Hashknife, “We tried to take a drink out
+of the little creek below here, but it was a little too bitter with
+alkali.”
+
+“We have plenty of water,” replied the girl, and turned to the
+half-breed.
+
+“Jimmy, will you get some water from the well? These men want a drink.”
+
+Jimmy squinted at the two cowboys for a moment before he turned and
+went around the house. Hashknife and Sleepy dismounted and came up to
+the steps, just as Mrs. Cassidy came over to the door.
+
+“Hello, mother,” smiled Hashknife. “How are you today?” The old squaw
+smiled broadly at the title and nodded pleasantly. Hashknife turned to
+Lorna.
+
+“This is the Tomahawk ranch, ain’t it?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Uh-huh. Yuh see, I wasn’t sure. Somebody told us that we’d likely get
+shot if we came here, but we don’t believe everythin’ we hear.”
+
+Lorna smiled, but there was little happiness in it.
+
+“I am glad you did not believe,” she replied. “We have never killed any
+one.”
+
+“Sure yuh ain’t,” agreed Sleepy heartily. “I can jist look at you
+and see that yuh never. Gosh dang it, some folks sure do get things
+twisted.”
+
+Hashknife squinted sidewise at Sleepy and a grin spread his lips. Sleepy
+saw the grin and shuffled his feet nervously.
+
+“Well,” he said defensively, “can’t you, Hashknife?”
+
+“I never disputed yuh, cowboy,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+Jimmy came around the corner with a bucket of water and the two cowboys
+quenched their thirst.
+
+“Best water I ever drank,” declared Sleepy. “Never knowed that water
+could taste so danged good. Betcha I’ll be ridin’ this way real often
+f’r my drinks. Don’tcha know.” Sleepy was almost confidential. “I
+wonder why men drink strong liquor, when water tastes so good.”
+
+“Now, little Dew-drop, don’t get so enthusiastic,” advised Hashknife
+seriously, and then to Lorna--
+
+“He’s the same way over everythin’, ma’am.”
+
+“He likes water,” said the old squaw.
+
+“Under bridges,” admitted Hashknife. “Sleepy--say, I plumb forgot to
+introduce us. I’m Hashknife Hartley and this here water-soaked pardner
+of mine is named Sleepy Stevens.”
+
+“I am Lorna Cassidy,” said the girl, “and this is my mother, Mrs.
+Cassidy.”
+
+“We’re sure pleased to meetcha,” said Sleepy, bowing gracefully, but
+kicking over the water-bucket at the same time.
+
+“You’ve gotta watch him all the time,” explained Hashknife, as Sleepy
+hastened to right the bucket. “He’ll get his feet right into anythin’
+that’s got water in it.”
+
+Sleepy stood up, a grin on his flushed face. Lorna was laughing and a
+wide grin overspread the old squaw’s face. Jimmy, the half-breed stepped
+in and held out his hand to Hashknife.
+
+“I’m Jimmy,” he said. “Nobody speak my name.”
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy shook hands solemnly with him.
+
+“You’ll excuse me, won’t yuh Jimmy?” asked Hashknife, “and we both thank
+yuh for the water.”
+
+Jimmy grinned.
+
+“Plenty water. You want more?”
+
+“No, thank yuh, Jimmy. If there was any more water around here, I’d have
+to get a canoe for Sleepy. He can’t swim a lick.”
+
+Jimmy grunted and went away with the bucket. He had no sense of humor,
+but he instinctively liked these two cowpunchers. Perhaps it was because
+they shook hands with him and treated him as an equal.
+
+“My man in jail,” said Mrs. Cassidy, as if explaining his absence.
+“Can’t get out. Too ---- much law.”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon that’s right, mother,” said Hashknife, “but he’ll get
+out.”
+
+“Won’t you come in?” asked Lorna. “It is cool in the house.”
+
+“Betcha we will,” agreed Sleepy quickly. “I’m about fried to a cinder.”
+
+Jimmy followed them into the house and sat down against the wall.
+
+“Ben Lanpher lives here, don’t he?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“He has been staying here,” corrected Lorna. “Do you know him?”
+
+“He was pointed out to me, and they said he was livin’ here.”
+
+“Too much whisky,” grunted the old squaw.
+
+Hashknife smiled and rolled a cigaret. He had been afraid to ask
+questions in Wolf Wells for fear that some one might find out that he
+and Sleepy were investigating the rustling situation.
+
+“You folks been losin’ any cattle?” he asked.
+
+Lorna nodded quickly.
+
+“Yes, I think so. Dad insists that we have. He told everybody that he
+was losing cattle, and two days after that we found a card pinned to
+the front door. It had been written with a pencil and told us to keep
+our mouths shut or something worse than loss of cattle would come to
+us.”
+
+“Don’t talk about it,” advised Jimmy warningly.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy exchanged glances. They knew now why there was no
+talk about the rustlers. It was the fear of the unknown that had shut
+the lips of the cattlemen. It was a condition that would make every man
+suspect his neighbor.
+
+“Where do the cattle go?” asked Hashknife. “You’ve got to have a market
+for stolen stock. Is there any way out of here, except by railroad,
+where cattle could have been sent?”
+
+Lorna shook her head.
+
+“I can’t talk about it with you,” she said. “You are strangers to us,
+and for all we know you may belong to the Ghost Hills gang. Every one
+is afraid around here. Two men have already been killed and I think
+they were killed by the rustlers, but we have no proofs.”
+
+“Ghost Hills gang, eh?” said Hashknife thoughtfully. “Have they ever
+been seen by any one?”
+
+“No seeum,” grunted the old squaw.
+
+“Sort of fantom riders, eh?” grinned Sleepy. “I dunno whether we want
+jobs in this range or not, Hashknife. I’m kinda spooky m’self.”
+
+“Does kinda make a feller feel creepy,” admitted Hashknife seriously,
+“and I don’t blame you folks for not talkin’ too much. I don’t suppose
+the sheriff is spendin’ much time tryin’ to round ’em up.”
+
+“He stay home,” grunted Jimmy. “Sheriff smart man.”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly and picked up his hat.
+
+“Well, folks, I reckon we’ll drift along. Can we cut straight across the
+hills to Wolf Wells?”
+
+“Yeah,” grunted Jimmy. “No fence, no trail. Not so long as road.”
+
+Lorna followed them to the door and watched them mount.
+
+“Will you come again?” she asked, just a trifle wistfully.
+
+“Unless the ghost riders plug me first,” said Sleepy quickly.
+
+“She meant both of us,” grinned Hashknife, as they rode away. “Sleepy,
+you sure do lose what little sense yuh got when yuh see a pretty girl.”
+
+“Well, by golly, she sure is a pretty girl, Hashknife. She’s got
+Lanpher’s daughter beat four ways from the jack.”
+
+Hashknife turned in his saddle and looked keenly at Sleepy, who was
+looking back toward the Tomahawk ranch-house. Sleepy turned and
+encountered Hashknife’s gaze.
+
+“Rope’s draggin’ ag’in, Sleepy,” warned Hashknife.
+
+“Lemme alone, will yuh?” snapped Sleepy, spurring his horse ahead and up
+the brushy slope.
+
+“There’s some nice lookin’ girls in the city,” said Hashknife, quoting
+what Sleepy had said the night he had met Miss Lanpher.
+
+But Sleepy only grunted. He and Hashknife had been partners for years,
+riding the ranges from Alberta to Mexico, and both were still heart and
+fancy free. Neither of them had ever been willing to marry and settle
+down. No range had ever been home to them for more than a few months at
+a time, and neither of them was young.
+
+Both of them bore scars of conflict, and behind them were greater scars,
+which they had left in payment of injustice to others. They did not seek
+trouble, but, as Hashknife had said:
+
+“There’s an antidote for every kind of poison, Sleepy. Some of it ain’t
+nothin’ more than salt-water or soapsuds, but it does the trick. Poison
+is poison, whether it’s somethin’ yuh get out of a bottle or somethin’
+that grows in yore soul.
+
+“When me and you first started hornin’ into dirty deals, I figured we
+was professional trouble-shooters, but I’ve come to the conclusion that
+the good Lord intended us as an antidote for range poison. And we’ve
+sure cured a lot of hard cases.”
+
+“And never profited thereby,” reminded Sleepy.
+
+“No-o-o, but yuh never heard of soapsuds and salt-water yelpin’ for pay.
+We’re just antidotes, thasall.”
+
+Sleepy had a habit of falling in love at first sight, but it never went
+beyond that. Both of them realized that the marriage of one would mean
+the end of their adventures, and they were not ready to lead a peaceful
+life.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fat Fleager was putting in a bad afternoon. It was bad enough to have
+Smoky Cole in town, drunk. Smoky had been drinking alone since the jury
+had been discharged, and he was beginning to move around, as if defying
+the whole world.
+
+He had imbibed raw whisky for twenty-four hours, and was still on his
+feet. Not only was he on his feet, but he was fairly steady on them.
+His eye was bloodshot, but not at all bleary.
+
+Fleager had observed Smoky Cole closely, waiting for him to run into
+some of the folks who had denounced him in the courtroom. Then came
+Ben Lanpher to add to the slatlike sheriff’s troubles. Ben was nearly
+drunk when he reached town, and he lost no time in bracing his chest
+against the Lily of the Valley bar and filling his interior with
+fighting liquor.
+
+Fat lost no time in hot-footing it back to the office and waking
+Lonesome Hobbs out of his mid-day siesta.
+
+“Nouk,” grunted Lonesome. “To ---- with ’em both. Let ’em git at each
+other, Fat.”
+
+“But me and you have sworn to uphold the law,” wailed the sheriff.
+“We’ve gotta do it, Lonesome.”
+
+“I’ll hold her up,” agreed Lonesome, getting off the bunk, adjusting his
+hat and selecting a sawed-off shotgun from the gun-rack.
+
+“Where’s all them buckshot shells, Fat?”
+
+“Now whatcha goin’ to do?”
+
+“Shoot ---- out of both of ’em. It’s gettin’ so a fuf-feller can’t even
+sleep around here. Where’s the shells?”
+
+“Aw-w-w, go lay down!” wailed the sheriff. “You ain’t no help to me,
+Lonesome. You’re either as lazy as the ----, or as bloodthirsty as a
+cannibal. I hired yuh as a deputy and all I got was a drawback.”
+
+“Well, whatcha want me to do?” grunted Lonesome. “I only know how to
+do two things real well--sleep and shoot. You woke me up, darn yuh,
+and now yuh won’t let me know where them shells are. You ain’t noways
+consistent.”
+
+“Yuh might use a little brains!” snapped the sheriff.
+
+“If I had brains--” The cot creaked raspingly, as Lonesome stretched
+himself out again-- “If I had brains I’d never live in Wolf Wells, I’ll
+tell yuh that, Fat Fleager. Anyway, it ain’t no job for a fat man, this
+ain’t. All you’ve got to do is stand sideways and nobody can hit yuh.
+With me----”
+
+Lonesome lifted his head and looked toward the door, but the sheriff had
+gone, and Lonesome did not finish his sentence.
+
+Then he groaned dismally, got off the cot and buckled on his belt. He
+was in no mood to be trifled with now. It was his usual siesta time,
+and he meant to make it worth losing sleep over.
+
+With Ben Lanpher in the Lily of the Valley, and Smoky Cole in the
+Antelope saloon, the sheriff planted himself between the two, which were
+half-a-block apart, and made a resolution that they--Ben and Smoky--must
+be kept apart.
+
+The fact that one of them did not know the other was in town helped the
+sheriff considerably. Lonesome looked witheringly upon the watchful
+sheriff and went into the Lily of the Valley, where he found Ben
+Lanpher, standing with his shoulder-blades sort of hooked over the top
+of the bar, while he considered things of importance.
+
+Lonesome Hobbs was no diplomat. He knew that Ben was just drunk enough
+to pick trouble. His bleary eye and the belligerent angle of his
+sombrero proclaimed to Lonesome that Bennie was contemplating starting
+something.
+
+Lonesome walked up to the bar beside Ben, as if to buy a drink, turned
+swiftly and kicked Bennie’s feet from under him. And while Bennie was
+going down in a sitting position, Lonesome uppercut him with a right
+fist, which landed Bennie into dreamland.
+
+Then, while everything in the saloon suspended operations to watch him,
+Lonesome removed Bennie’s gun, flipped out the cartridges and replaced
+the gun.
+
+“And that’s some sudden!” exclaimed the bartender.
+
+“Dud-danged right,” admitted Lonesome, and to the crowd--
+
+“When he wakes up, you tell him to high-tail it out of town, ’cause I’m
+comin’ back to make both sides of his face match up.”
+
+Then Lonesome went out of there, walking stiff-legged, and headed for
+the Antelope. The sheriff was still planted in the same spot, but
+Lonesome walked past him, as if the sheriff was a stranger. He spoke
+to Lonesome, but got no reply.
+
+Lonesome went into the Antelope and found Smoky in a poker-game. Or
+rather, Smoky was half-in and half-out of the game. He was standing up,
+leaning across the table and talking in uncertain and very profane terms
+over what he declared to be a deliberate attempt to swindle him out of a
+pot.
+
+Smoky was just drunk enough to be vile in his language, and dangerous
+withal. He was standing up in front of his chair when Lonesome’s right
+hand hooked into his gaudy muffler, and a moment later he went over
+backward, taking the chair with him, and landed on the back of his head
+with a thud.
+
+It knocked all the fight out of Smoky, and his mind was a blank during
+the time that Lonesome removed his gun and took out the cartridges.
+Smoky had no friends in the place to assist him, and those present
+seemed to get a lot of fun out of the incident.
+
+“Tell him to rattle his hocks out of town,” said Lonesome. “He’s been
+makin’ himself ob-obnoxious around here, and I’ll be watchin’ the
+front door for his goin’. Me and the sheriff is plumb tired of bein’
+annoyed.”
+
+Lonesome went out of the door and crossed the street toward the office,
+without looking at the sheriff, who was still holding forth between the
+two saloons. Lonesome went into the office and planted himself near the
+front window, after placing the sawed-off shotgun handy.
+
+It was several minutes later that Ben Lanpher came to the door of the
+Lily of the Valley. His right hand caressed the side of his head and he
+seemed undecided as to what he intended doing. He took stock of the fact
+that the sheriff was between him and the Antelope saloon, but started
+walking toward him.
+
+About this time Smoky Cole staggered out of the Antelope, his hat in
+his hand. He was also a trifle erratic in his movements, and perhaps
+a bit near-sighted after the bump on his head, because he too started
+toward the sheriff.
+
+There was nothing for the sheriff to do but to move away from between
+them, which he did and did quickly.
+
+“Don’tcha start nothin’!” he yelled. “Don’tcha ----”
+
+But his warning was wasted. The two belligerents had recognized each
+other. For a moment they hesitated, then two hands reached for two
+guns. Smoky was the faster of the two. His gun was out before Ben had
+started his draw, but the hammer fell upon an empty cylinder.
+
+Swiftly his thumb hooked the hammer, and again the dull click of a dead
+cylinder. Ben’s gun was leveled now, but his efforts were as unavailing
+as were Smoky’s. But Smoky did not hear the click of Ben’s gun, because
+Smoky was going away as fast as his legs would carry him.
+
+Ben did not pay any attention to Smoky’s going, because a quick glance
+told him that his gun was empty, and he turned to run the other way.
+Lonesome whooped with glee and fell backward on the cot, while the
+sheriff, after a glance in either direction, hurried across to the
+office.
+
+Lonesome sat up and looked at the sheriff, his eyes filled with tears.
+The sheriff was a trifle pale and his lips worked soundlessly.
+
+“What’s the matter with you?” choked Lonesome.
+
+“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed the sheriff. “I--I’m glad to hear your
+voice, Lonesome. I thought I had lost my hearin’. Them two guns ----”
+
+“Were empty,” finished Lonesome. “Ha, ha, ha, ha! They never thought to
+look at ’em, and nobody told that I took out the shells.”
+
+“You took ’em out?”
+
+“Yeah, I took ’em out,” laughed Lonesome, and then told the sheriff what
+he had done to both men.
+
+The sheriff went to the door and looked into the street. Ben Lanpher
+was mounting his horse, and a moment later rode away toward home. He
+was unsteady in his saddle and lost his hat, but did not stop to
+recover it.
+
+It was probably ten minutes later that Smoky Cole rode out of the
+livery-stable and headed toward home. He was savagely drunk and took
+out his spite on his horse, which almost threw him off in front of
+the sheriff’s office.
+
+“Well, they’re gone and I hope they never come back,” declared the
+sheriff fervently.
+
+“You and me both,” agreed Lonesome wearily. “It’s gittin’ so a
+fuf-feller can’t even sleep around here. Next time I’ll take a
+hammer and nails with me and nail their pants to the floor. I’ll
+betcha they’ll stay put next time I have to git out of mum-my sleep
+to correct ’em.”
+
+“You think you’re a little bit of ----, don’tcha?” queried the sheriff
+sarcastically.
+
+“Not such a little bit either,” retorted Lonesome. “I’ve got the
+stren’th to hold up the law, y’betcha.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy were riding in from the other end of town, and the
+sheriff watched them ride up to the front of the office and dismount. He
+was not exactly sure whether he liked these two punchers or not. Still
+their smiles were friendly enough, but he was not sure that they were
+not laughing at him.
+
+“Howdy,” greeted Hashknife. “How’s tricks?”
+
+“Tricks are fine,” yelled Lonesome. “I jist pup-played a dinger. Lemme
+tell yuh about it.”
+
+And with great gusto and much stuttering, Lonesome told them how he had
+treated the two drunken punchers.
+
+“And Fat Fleager thought he’d lost his hearin’, ’cause he couldn’t hear
+’em shootin’,” concluded Lonesome. “Mamma mine, I never done nothin’
+half as good before.”
+
+“Didja think they’d do that, when yuh took the shells out of their
+guns?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“I wasn’t sure of nothin’,” admitted Lonesome, “but it sure worked out
+swell.”
+
+“Now they’ll pack a grudge agin’ you,” declared the sheriff.
+
+“And I’ll pack a riot-gun,” said Lonesome laughing.
+
+“Kind of a tough place yuh got here,” said Hashknife, sitting down on
+the sidewalk and producing his papers and tobacco. “Cattle fade out and
+folks get shot. You kinda got yore hands full, ain’t yuh, sheriff?”
+
+The sheriff nodded slowly and shoved his hands deeply into his pockets.
+
+“Yeah, I reckon things are kinda unsettled, Hartley.”
+
+“You fellers find a job yet?” Thus Lonesome, as if to change the
+subject.
+
+“Not yet,” grinned Hashknife. “Jobs is scarce.”
+
+“If I wanted a job punchin’ cows, I’d sure pass up the Ghost Hills
+range,” observed the sheriff. “There’s lots of better ranges than this,
+where there’s always a need for top-hands.”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon that’s right,” agreed Hashknife. “It ain’t noways the
+best. The Circle Cross is the best outfit around here, ain’t it?”
+
+“Yeah, I reckon it is. They run more cattle than any other outfit
+around here--or did until--say, did yuh go over to the Flying M? Old
+man Shappee might have a job for one of yuh. It’s about four miles
+east of here. And there’s the 66 outfit about seven miles kinda south
+of here.”
+
+“We was just ridin’ around today,” explained Hashknife. “We ran across
+the Tomahawk ranch-house, but they ain’t hirin’ nobody.”
+
+“That’s a cinch,” said Lonesome, grinning widely. “They never did hire
+anybody. Old Cassidy and Jimmy Droop-drawers done all the work. Mebbe
+Ben Lanpher is doin’ somethin’ since old Cassidy git into jail, but I
+doubt it. He’s so soaked with hooch that he’s no good to anybody.”
+
+“Who is this here Ben Lanpher?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Millionaire kid,” grunted the sheriff. “His father owns half of the
+Circle Cross. Lives in Frisco, I think. Sent the kid out here to learn
+the cattle business and he took a post-graduate course in whisky and
+six-guns. He was at the Circle Cross for quite a while, but he got stuck
+on Cassidy’s daughter, pulled off a quarrel with Jim Trainor and hooked
+up with the Tomahawk. He says he’s goin’ to marry that breed girl, but I
+doubt it.”
+
+“So do I,” agreed Sleepy, and added quickly. “He’d never stay sober long
+enough for that.”
+
+Hashknife chuckled to himself and tried to catch Sleepy’s eye, but
+Sleepy was busy examining his fingernails and would not look up.
+
+“It’s a wonder that his father wouldn’t make him come home,” said
+Hashknife. “Somebody’ll kill him if he don’t pull the kink out of his
+neck.”
+
+“Well, sir, he’s got a nice father, too,” observed the sheriff. “I kinda
+like Lanpher. Not a ---- bit like the kid. He was here about a year or
+so ago--him and his wife and daughter.”
+
+“And that daughter is a dinger,” wheezed Lonesome. “Prettiest girl I
+ever seen. She sure was a promisin’ lookin’ filly, but Jim Trainor
+kinda close-herded her all the time. By golly, there was a lot of
+punchers that’d given their right eye to even dance with her. Her ma
+high-toned everybody, but papa was sort of a harmless hoptoad.”
+
+Lonesome laughed and shook his head sadly.
+
+“Mamma looked right over my huh-head, when I tried to shake hands with
+her. I told her to set her sights lower if she wanted to connect with
+me and she got sore. Anyway, I got papa drunk and he confided that he
+had high ideas for daughter. I often wonder if he hit what he was
+aimin’ at.”
+
+“And they ain’t been here since, eh?” This from Sleepy.
+
+“Nope. Their little son stayed, thasall. And I’ll tell a man that this
+country didn’t draw much when they got him.”
+
+“Lots of cattle shipped out of here?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Ain’t been for a while.” The sheriff shook his head. “Oh, there’s a few
+bein’ shipped now and then, but no big shipments. The 66 outfit shipped
+some horses the other day, didn’t they, Lonesome?”
+
+“Gosh, I dunno,” Lonesome yawned widely. “I never keep track of them
+kinda things. It keeps me busy knockin’ down drunken bad-men.
+Ho-o-o--hum-m-m!”
+
+“Why don’tcha try sleepin’ for it?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Try it?” snorted the sheriff. “My ---- he don’t do nothin’ else but
+sleep.”
+
+“Don’t I?”
+
+Lonesome slapped himself on the chest.
+
+“I went out and cleaned up on the bad-men, while the sheriff planted
+himself over there on the sidewalk and got cockeyed from tryin’ to
+watch both ways at once.”
+
+“Yuh should ’a’ seen him, gents. He seen Smoky comin’ one way and Bennie
+the other. Then he yelps:
+
+“‘Don’tcha start nothin’!’ Ha, ha, ha, ha!”
+
+Lonesome roared his mirth and the sheriff whirled and went into the
+office, quivering with indignation.
+
+“Now he’s mad at me,” wailed Lonesome, “and I suppose he’ll fire me, and
+I won’t have no more job than a jackrabbit. That’s just my luck.”
+
+“You think yore kinda ---- smart, don’tcha?” growled the harassed
+sheriff.
+
+“Well,” Lonesome sighed gleefully, “it isn’t as bad as I thought it
+was. When Fat gets to blamin’ me for bein’ smart, I know everythin’
+is all right.”
+
+Lonesome began manufacturing a cigaret and the conversation stopped
+for a few minutes. A loaded wagon creaked down the street, stirring
+up a cloud of dust. Over in front of the Antelope saloon a couple of
+cowpunchers mounted and rode away, arguing loudly over something that
+neither of them knew anything about. Up the street a couple of dogs
+started a battle, which was a signal to every dog in town to come and
+look on.
+
+Hashknife inhaled deeply on his cigaret and motioned with his arm to
+take in the whole town.
+
+“Boys, this is the kind of a town to live in. They can all have their
+cities--give me the old cow-town.”
+
+“Huh!”
+
+Lonesome flipped away his match and stared at Hashknife.
+
+“Pardner, you’ve got a ---- of an idea of a place to live. You ain’t
+been around much, have yuh?”
+
+“No-o-o, not a whole lot.”
+
+“I guess you ain’t.”
+
+“Here comes an old-timer,” observed Sleepy, pointing up the street.
+“Betcha he struck the mother-lode.”
+
+It was a bearded old prospector, astride a bony, gray horse, and
+trailing him was a decrepit-looking pack-horse, with pack askew and a
+limp in one leg.
+
+The one-man caravan came straight to the office and the bearded man
+shaded his eyes from the sun, as he spelled out the sheriff’s sign
+over the door.
+
+“Howdy, stranger,” said Lonesome. “Somethin’ I can do for yuh?”
+
+“You the sheriff?” asked the bearded one anxiously.
+
+“No, I’m his hired bad-man buster,” grinned Lonesome.
+
+Just then the sheriff came to the door, and Lonesome jerked his thumb in
+that direction.
+
+“There’s the sheriff--such as he is.”
+
+“What do yuh want?” queried the sheriff.
+
+“Well--” The patriarch cleared his throat raspingly and leaned forward
+in his saddle--“I found a dead man a little while ago.”
+
+The sheriff stepped out nearer him.
+
+“Keep on talkin’, stranger. Where’d yuh find him?”
+
+“Back up the road a piece. Mebbe it’s a couple of miles. He’s layin’ on
+his face in the middle of the road. I didn’t move him none, I didn’t,
+but I looked at him enough to know that he’s dead. Been shot in the back
+of the head, ’cordin’ to what I observed.”
+
+“What did he look like?” queried Lonesome.
+
+“I told yuh he’s layin’ on his face--kinda rootin’ into the dust. Got
+on chaps and overalls and a shirt. Jist a little ways before I finds
+this here dead man, I finds this in the road.”
+
+He drew a six-shooter from the waistband of his overalls and handed it
+to the sheriff. It was a Colt single-action .44 caliber.
+
+“Say yuh found it in the road?” asked the sheriff, examining the gun
+closely.
+
+“Yeah. I thinks to myself that I’ve found me a good gun, but when I
+finds the dead man, I decides to turn the gun over to the sheriff.
+It’s been shot once.”
+
+“I see it has,” nodded the sheriff, and then to Lonesome--
+
+“Get a hack from the livery-stable and we’ll go out after this dead
+man.”
+
+Lonesome bow-legged his way across the street and down to the stable,
+while the sheriff went back through his office to the stable, where he
+and Lonesome kept their saddle-horses.
+
+The old prospector turned and studied the saloon signs across the
+street, spat dryly and rode over to the Antelope to quench a thirst
+that was probably of long standing.
+
+“Who do yuh reckon got killed, Hashknife?” asked Sleepy, as they waited
+for the sheriff.
+
+“Probably that fool Lanpher. Here comes the sheriff.”
+
+They swung on to their horses and joined Fleager, without waiting for
+Lonesome.
+
+“He’ll come along after while,” assured the sheriff. “We’ll go ahead and
+investigate.”
+
+It took them only a short time to reach the spot, where the man was
+lying. On both sides of the road was a heavy thicket of brush and
+rocks. The sheriff dismounted and turned the man over.
+
+It was Smoky Cole. Hashknife and Sleepy swung down and the three of
+them made a minute examination. Cole had been shot from behind, the
+bullet striking him almost at the base of the brain.
+
+“Never knowed what hit him,” declared the sheriff, standing up and
+dusting his knees.
+
+“His gun is still in its holster, too,” said Hashknife as he drew the
+gun out and looked it over. All the chambers were loaded and the barrel
+was clean.
+
+“Kinda looks like he never had a chance, sheriff.”
+
+The sheriff nodded gloomily and began searching for tracks in the deep
+dust.
+
+“I wonder where Sandy Claws found that six-gun.”
+
+“Said it was a little beyond here,” said Sleepy. “It was prob’ly beyond
+that curve, and we can likely see where he picked it up.”
+
+They left the body and walked up the road, searching for the place where
+the old man had dismounted to pick up the gun. About fifty yards beyond
+the first turn in the road they found the spot.
+
+“Here’s where the gun was dropped,” observed the sheriff, pointing at
+the footprints in the road.
+
+Hashknife was looking a little farther on, and now he crossed the road,
+reached into the brush and picked up a black sombrero.
+
+“Here’s a hat,” he called, and walked back to the sheriff.
+
+It was a fairly new Stetson, but badly soiled, and in the sweat-band was
+punched the initials “B. L.”
+
+“Ben Lanpher,” declared the sheriff thoughtfully. “That’s his hat. He
+probably bushwhacked Smoky and lost his hat and gun in his getaway. And
+he was likely so drunk that he never thought to stop and get ’em.”
+
+As they walked back to the body, Lonesome drove into view and managed to
+turn his team around near the body.
+
+It did not take Lonesome long to find out all they knew and he shook his
+head sadly.
+
+“I knowed it,” he declared. “Yuh can’t mix whisky and six-guns. Well,”
+optimistically, “the county ain’t loser none to speak about, Fat.”
+
+“Mebbe not,” grunted the sheriff, and motioned for them to help him put
+the body into the hack.
+
+Lonesome climbed back to his seat and the sheriff gave his orders where
+to deliver the body.
+
+“Ain’t you goin’ back with us?” queried Lonesome.
+
+“Nope, not now. I’ve got to go and get Ben Lanpher.”
+
+“Goin’ to give him a medal?” grinned Lonesome.
+
+“Goin’ to arrest him for murder.”
+
+“Aw, for gosh sake! You don’t call this murder, do yuh?”
+
+“Well--” The sheriff mounted and adjusted his holster--“well, yuh
+couldn’t very well call it self-defense, Lonesome. Smoky never drawed
+his gun, and he was shot from behind. No, I reckon Bennie is sure up
+ag’in’ it good and strong.”
+
+The sheriff rode on toward the Tomahawk, while Lonesome sputtered at
+the team and drove back toward Wolf Wells, with Hashknife and Sleepy
+riding behind the wagon.
+
+“Gosh, this sure will be a jolt to old man Lanpher,” observed Sleepy
+sadly.
+
+“Yeah,” sighed Hashknife. “I sure feel sorry for them folks. I wonder if
+the sheriff knows Lanpher’s address in Frisco.”
+
+“You know it, don’t yuh?”
+
+“Yeah, but I don’t want anybody to know that I do.”
+
+He called to Lonesome and asked him about the Lanpher family.
+
+“I don’t know his address, and I don’t reckon that Fat does either,”
+replied Lonesome. “Jim Trainor’d know it.”
+
+“Suppose we ride to the Circle Cross and tell Trainor? He’d probably
+want to know about Smoky Cole.”
+
+“That’s a good idea,” admitted Lonesome. “You go ahead.”
+
+Lonesome drove on, and the two cowboys turned and rode back up the
+highway toward the Circle Cross.
+
+Hashknife was very thoughtful, but finally turned to Sleepy.
+
+“Cowboy, it kinda looks like we’ve bit off a big chaw.”
+
+“Sure does,” agreed Sleepy, “and there don’t seem to be no handy place
+to start chawin’, does there?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head, his eyes squinted thoughtfully.
+
+“No, there don’t, Sleepy. I reckon it’s a fact that a gang of rustlers
+are makin’ a cleanup in this range, but everybody is scared to talk
+about it.
+
+“It must ’a’ been that gang who killed the two cattle detectives, but I
+don’t think they had anythin’ to do with this killin’ today.”
+
+“Mebbe old man Cassidy is one of the gang,” suggested Sleepy.
+
+“Might be. As far as that’s concerned, Ben Lanpher might be one of ’em,
+too. It looks to me like Smoky Cole tried to convict old Cassidy at that
+trial. He sure stuck for conviction. I’m just wonderin’ if Smoky Cole
+didn’t try to make love to Lorna Cassidy, and that was why the old man
+drew a dead-line against the Circle Cross outfit.
+
+“Smoky was a mean sort of a jasper, and that would be his idea of
+revenge, to hang the old man. Still I don’t think that Ben belongs to
+the rustlers, because he wouldn’t hardly steal from his own father.”
+
+“How about that warning that Lorna told us about, Hashknife?”
+
+“Don’t mean anythin’, Sleepy. They’d naturally want everybody to think
+they was sufferin’, too. But where in ---- are they disposin’ of the
+stock? Workin’ in the dark thisaway is kinda hard, don’tcha know it?
+And we can’t ask a lot of fool questions, because we don’t know when
+we’re talkin’ to some of the gang.”
+
+They passed the spot where Cole had been killed, and took the right-hand
+road at the forks, which wound in and out of the brushy coulées and into
+a wide swale on the bank of a creek where the Circle Cross buildings
+were located.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was growing late, but there was still enough light to show that the
+Circle Cross was no small outfit. The ranch-house was pretentious in
+size, the barns, fences and corrals were in good repair, and even the
+front yard of the ranch-house seemed well-kept.
+
+“Looks like the teepee of a millionaire,” observed Sleepy, as they
+dismounted at the ranch-house.
+
+A fat Chinese answered their knock at the front door and nodded solemnly
+when they asked for Trainor.
+
+“Yessah, he in. I call.”
+
+“Who’s out there?” yelled Trainor’s voice.
+
+“This is Hartley,” called Hashknife.
+
+“Come on in and rest your feet.”
+
+They followed the Chinaman into the living-room, and in a few moments
+Trainor came in. He was carrying a bottle of liquor and some glasses,
+and seemed a trifle unsteady in his walk.
+
+“Glad to see yuh,” he boomed. “Welcome to the Circle Cross, gents. I’ve
+just been tryin’ out some new liquor and I find that it has a lot of
+authority.”
+
+He started to pour out a glass.
+
+“Say when, Hartley.”
+
+“When!” grunted Hashknife quickly.
+
+“Say, that ain’t half-full, cowboy. Why ----”
+
+“Too late in the afternoon, and we ain’t been fed since breakfast.”
+
+“You ain’t?” Trainor turned and yelled toward the kitchen.
+
+“Hey, Quong! Throw on a couple of steaks. Cut ’em thick, yuh hear me?”
+
+“Yessah, can do,” called the Chinaman.
+
+“Wait a minute,” begged Hashknife. “We didn’t come out here to bum a
+meal and a drink, Trainor; we came to tell you that Smoky Cole was
+killed a little while ago, and that the sheriff has gone to arrest
+Ben Lanpher for murder.”
+
+Trainor stared at Hashknife, started to put the bottle on the table,
+but missed, and it fell to the floor, where its contents gurgled out
+over a fine Navajo rug.
+
+“Smoky Cole? How did this happen, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife explained how Cole’s body had been found and how the evidence
+all pointed to Ben Lanpher. He told Trainor of the bloodless gun-fight
+at Wolf Wells, and that Ben Lanpher had ridden away ahead of Smoky Cole.
+
+“And he shot Smoky from the brush, eh?” Trainor’s jaw muscles bulged
+angrily. “Never gave him a chance. Wait a minute.”
+
+Trainor stepped out onto the front porch and yelled at two cowpunchers,
+who were down near a corral. Hashknife and Sleepy followed him out and
+watched the two men come up to them. Hashknife and Sleepy had never
+seen these two, and Trainor introduced them as “Buck” Avery and “Poco”
+Saunders.
+
+Avery was a square-faced, pig-eyed, medium-sized man, about thirty years
+of age, whose face was badly marked from smallpox.
+
+Saunders was of medium height, but thin-faced and as dark as a Mexican.
+His eyes were sullen and the pupils seemed flecked with red. After a
+searching glance, which seemed to take in every inch of both Hashknife
+and Sleepy, Saunders kept his eyes on Trainor’s face, while Trainor
+repeated what Hashknife had told him.
+
+Buck Avery swore witheringly, but Saunders said nothing when they
+learned that Smoky Cole was dead.
+
+“We’ll all have a drink and then go to town,” said Trainor. “C’mon.”
+
+But Poco Saunders did not accept the invitation. He turned and walked
+back toward the corral, without a word.
+
+“He was Smoky’s bunkie,” said Trainor, which seemed sufficient
+explanation for refusing to drink.
+
+“Poco don’t drink much, anyway,” added Buck, “but I feel like a drink
+would kinda take the edge off a shock like that. It ain’t that it’s
+any surprize t’me, though. Smoky always got mean when he was drinkin’,
+but he thought he was such a ---- of a gunman that he’d git past with
+anythin’.”
+
+“He was shot from behind,” reminded Sleepy.
+
+“Which’ll make it go hard with Ben Lanpher,” nodded Buck over his drink.
+“It’s a fine start for a kid like him, and I feel a lot more sorry for
+his folks than I do for him. Yuh goin’ to wire ’em, ain’tcha, Trainor?”
+
+“Just as soon as I get to town, Buck. Let’s go.”
+
+Poco Saunders had saddled his horse and was waiting for them. Hashknife
+studied Poco, while Trainor and Buck Avery were saddling, and decided
+that Poco was a very sinister-looking young man; and might well be
+marked with a danger signal.
+
+Whereas Smoky Cole was a talkative gunman, prone to boast of his prowess
+and more or less audible threatening, Poco would probably shoot first
+and talk about it later, if at all.
+
+Trainor and Avery rode out from the corral, joined them, and the five
+of them headed for Wolf Wells at a gallop. Hashknife showed them where
+Smoky’s body had been discovered, and where Ben Lanpher’s gun and hat
+had been picked up, but Poco showed no interest in this.
+
+Trainor looked curiously at Poco, who went on without them.
+
+“Hit him kinda hard, I reckon,” he observed. “Him and Smoky were bunkies
+for a long time. Poco’s a good puncher, but he ain’t got much sense.”
+
+“Part Mexican?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“He’s got some Mexican blood in him, I reckon,” replied Buck. “Used to
+talk it a little once in a while. That’s where he got his nickname.”
+
+They rode into town and went straight to the sheriff’s office, where
+they found several men talking with the sheriff. He had brought Ben
+Lanpher back with him and had locked him in a cell.
+
+“He was still drunk,” said the sheriff, “and he sure was a meek jasper.
+Didn’t object to bein’ locked up, except to tell me he never done it.
+Mebbe he was so drunk that he didn’t know when he shot Cole. I dunno.”
+
+“Man never gets so drunk that he don’t remember bushwhackin’ and killin’
+a man,” declared Hashknife.
+
+“Dang right he don’t,” agreed Lonesome Hobbs. “That ain’t no alibi,” and
+added sadly, “I wish I’d let their guns alone t’ day. One or both of ’em
+would ’a’ got killed, but it would ’a’ been legal. I s’pose I’ve got to
+spend most of my time feedin’ and takin’ care of prisoners now. Thank
+gosh, we’ve only got two cells. If we get any more prisoners we’ll have
+to pasture ’em out some’ers.”
+
+A man came across the street and joined the group. He was a sallow-faced
+man, with tobacco-stained teeth and ink-stained fingers.
+
+“I was just comin’ down to send a telegram to Lanpher,” said Trainor,
+addressing the newcomer. “You heard what happened, didn’t yuh, Whitey?”
+
+“Yeah, I heard about it. Looks kinda bad for the kid.”
+
+Trainor walked away with Whitey, going to the depot, and Hashknife and
+Sleepy put their horses into a corral. At the depot, Trainor sent a long
+message to William Lanpher, giving him the details of the trouble.
+
+“There’s a telegram here for yuh, Trainor,” said the depot agent, as he
+checked off the words on Trainor’s message.
+
+“I was goin’ to send it out to yuh, if somebody was goin’ out your way.
+This’ll cost yuh a dollar and sixty cents.”
+
+Trainor paid for the message and walked out. At the edge of the platform
+he tore open the envelope and read the message, a serious frown on his
+face. Then he grinned softly and went back up the street.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Ben Lanpher sobered up he failed to become the least bit
+repentant over what had happened to him. Trainor had consulted with
+George Mitchell, the lawyer from San Francisco, and had hired him to
+defend Ben, but Ben would have none of him.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy talked with the sheriff about Lanpher.
+
+“He’s loco,” declared the sheriff. “Tells a tale that no jury would
+believe.”
+
+“What about?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“Aw, he says he never bushwhacked Cole a-tall.”
+
+“I’d like to talk with him a while,” observed Hashknife, “and see if he
+tells the same thing twice.”
+
+“Might be a good idea,” agreed Lonesome Hobbs. “Me and Fat’ll listen and
+see what it sounds like.”
+
+“Prob’ly won’t talk to yuh. Mitchell comes down here to have a talk
+with him, but he cussed Mitchell plumb out of the jail. Mitchell told
+him that Trainor hired him to defend him, and it made Lanpher sore as
+----. I’ll see if Ben’ll talk to yuh.”
+
+The sheriff came back in a few minutes with the information that Ben
+was willing to talk to anybody who wasn’t connected with the Circle
+Cross outfit. They went through the office and into the rear, where
+two cells were built in at the back of the room.
+
+Old Pinto Cassidy scowled at them through the bars, but noticed that
+they were strangers and became more friendly. Ben came to the barred
+door and squinted at Hashknife.
+
+“I know you,” he said hoarsely. “You’re the jasper that winked over my
+shoulder. By ---- that seems a long time ago. What did yuh want to see
+me for?”
+
+“Ye don’t have to talk with ’em, if ye don’t want to, remimber that,
+Ben,” warned Cassidy. “Ye have to be careful who ye talk wid in here.
+Sure, it’s a ---- of a place to be in, so it is.”
+
+“That’s all right, Cassidy,” grunted Ben. “I’ve nothin’ to conceal.”
+
+“Then tell us about it,” urged Hashknife. “What did you do after you
+left town yesterday?”
+
+Ben forced a laugh and tried to peer around the corner of his door.
+
+“I remember that Lonesome Hobbs played a dirty trick on me. After that I
+got on my horse and started home. I was pretty drunk--too drunk to ride
+fast, and I had a bad horse.
+
+“I loaded my gun on the way, I remember that because I dropped some
+shells and got off to pick ’em up. I had a hard time getting back on
+my bronc, but finally made it.
+
+“Then I seen Smoky Cole coming. He was quite a ways behind me, but he
+was foggin’ right along as though he was tryin’ to catch me. I didn’t
+want him to catch me, because I was just sober enough to know that a
+killing out there might look like murder.
+
+“I rode on, but had a lot of trouble with that ---- horse of mine. He
+almost threw me a couple of times, and I guess we wasted a lot of time
+along that brushy road. All to once, I thought that Smoky was shootin’
+at me.”
+
+Ben grinned wearily and shook his head.
+
+“No, I didn’t see Smoky at all, but I sure heard him shoot. I drew my
+gun and waited for him to swing around the curve, but I guess I was
+just drunk enough to cause me to accidently pull the trigger. Anyway,
+I felt the gun kick out of my hand, and then that fool bronc started
+to buck again. That was the first time I ever shot off that horse,
+and I guess it was scared stiff.
+
+“Anyway, we must have gone real fast, because I remember we were close
+to the Tomahawk when I got my reins back again. And that’s all, except
+that the sheriff woke me up later on and told me I had killed Smoky
+Cole.”
+
+Hashknife nodded over his cigaret.
+
+“That’s the whole story,” sighed Ben.
+
+“And, by golly, it’s a good one, too,” added Cassidy. “You stick to that
+story, me lad. I stuck to mine--and look where I am.”
+
+Hashknife laughed at Cassidy. Squawman he might be; a bitter old
+cattleman he surely was, but he still retained his sense of humor.
+
+“If Cole had been killed several days ago, you might be a free man now,
+Cassidy,” said Hashknife.
+
+“Ah, that’s true, me lad; but I’d suffer a long time in jail, if the
+poor misguided lad could be brought back to life. He was but goin’
+accordin’ to his own lights, so he was.”
+
+“Then he had a ---- poor light!” snapped Ben.
+
+“A lot of us have,” sighed Cassidy. “Mine has flickered badly at times.
+’Tis hard to sit here the long days and know that me old ranch has no
+keeper, except Lorna and Jimmy. Sure, that’s no job for a bit of a lass
+and a well-meanin’, but poor managin’ lad. They’ll hold me and Bennie
+for the nixt term of court, which will be a long, long time away.”
+
+“Don’t worry about that,” assured Sleepy. “We’ll do what we can to help
+yuh out.”
+
+“Well, now that’s nice of ye,” said Cassidy, scratching his head as if
+wondering why these strangers would promise to help him in any way.
+
+“What do you think of my story?” asked Ben anxiously.
+
+“I dunno,” Hashknife shook his head. “It sounds reasonable, Lanpher--to
+me. But they’ll likely hold you for the next term of court. You’ve got
+an even break, thasall.”
+
+“That’s all I want.”
+
+As they started away, Cassidy called to them:
+
+“Come again, lads. Ye’r the first folks I ever known in Wolf Wells that
+showed common sense. Ye’ll probably not find us out when ye come again.”
+
+“All right,” laughed Hashknife as they passed out and shut the door
+behind them.
+
+The sheriff and Lonesome had heard every word, and nodded to the two
+cowpunchers.
+
+“Same story,” said Lonesome, leading the way outside. “Ben sure has got
+it rehearsed well, or he’s tellin’ the truth.”
+
+“Sounds reasonable, at that,” commented Hashknife. “He shot the gun
+accidental, got his hat bucked off. But who in thunder killed Smoky
+Cole, if Ben Lanpher didn’t?”
+
+The sheriff scowled and shook his head.
+
+“I dunno of anybody that would bushwhack him, Hartley.”
+
+“It’s kinda gettin’ to be a habit around here, ain’t it? Trainor has
+lost two other men in the same way.”
+
+“Yeah,” breathed the sheriff, “---- it! It makes me nervous to think
+about it. Feller never knows who’s next.”
+
+The sheriff looked so lugubrious that Hashknife laughed and slapped him
+on the shoulder.
+
+“I reckon yo’re safe, as long as yuh don’t antagonize the bushwhackers,”
+said Hashknife.
+
+“Huh! Well, I dunno.”
+
+Poco Saunders came into the upper end of town, dismounted at the Lily
+of the Valley hitch-rack, and walked down to them. Poco had a queer,
+stiff-legged walk, and held his elbows close to his sides.
+
+“Trainor said he wanted to see yuh,” he told Hashknife.
+
+“What’s he got on his mind?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“I dunno. Bronc stepped on his foot this mornin’, and he can’t walk.
+Mebbe he wants to hire yuh? I dunno.”
+
+“Did he ask for both of us?” queried Sleepy.
+
+Poco shook his head, turned on his heel and went back toward the saloon.
+
+“He’s a queer jigger,” observed Lonesome; “dangdest feller to run out of
+words thataway.”
+
+“He don’t talk much, that’s a cinch,” grinned Hashknife, getting to his
+feet. “I reckon we’ll get a bit to eat, Sleepy.”
+
+They walked up to a restaurant and ordered a meal. It was not like
+Hashknife to accept a job alone, but the circumstances were different
+this time.
+
+“Well, whatcha goin’ to do about it?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“I been wonderin’ a lot m’self, Sleepy. Suppose you go out to the
+Tomahawk and help ’em out a little, cowboy. Keep yore eyes open and
+yore mouth shut; _sabe?_ I’ll take this Circle Cross job, if that’s
+what Trainor wants.
+
+“But--” Hashknife put his hand on Sleepy’s arm and spoke softly--“for
+gosh sake, look out. I’ve got a feelin’ that we’re marked right now.
+This is goin’ to be our hardest job, Sleepy. Yuh can’t dodge a bullet
+that’s fired at yore back--and that’s their game. There’s a dirty
+bunch of murderers in these hills, and they’ll hand us a harp if they
+get a chance.”
+
+“But there ain’t nothin’ to work on,” complained Sleepy. “They won’t
+come out into the open and everybody’s afraid to say what they think.
+I’ll find out what I can without askin’ questions, and if I do stumble
+on to anythin’ worth talkin’ about, I’ll see yuh real quick.”
+
+They finished their meal and went to the corral after their horses. Poco
+Saunders saw them ride past the saloon, but made no move to join them.
+About half-way to where the road forked to the Circle Cross, they met
+Jimmy, the half-breed, from the Tomahawk.
+
+He grinned widely and drew up his broncho.
+
+“You go Tomahawk?” he asked.
+
+“I’m goin’ out there,” said Sleepy. “Maybe I stay and help for a while.”
+
+“That ---- good! Both go?”
+
+“No,” Hashknife shook his head. “I’m goin’ to work for the Circle Cross,
+Jimmy.”
+
+“Not good,” Jimmy shook his head.
+
+“You don’t like the Circle Cross?”
+
+“No, by ----!”
+
+And then to Sleepy--
+
+“I be back soon.”
+
+He spurred his horse ahead and faded out in a cloud of dust.
+
+“The Tomahawk sure does love the Circle Cross,” laughed Hashknife. “No
+wonder they drew a dead-line. Find out what it was all about, Sleepy.
+Prob’ly just a personal affair, but we’ve got to consider everything
+around here. But don’t come bustin’ over with the first thing yuh find
+out. Let it soak into yore mind, cowboy.”
+
+They shook hands at the forks of the road and went on their different
+ways. They had fought their range-battles together for so long that
+they both felt a trifle helpless apart.
+
+“Some day they’ll get us both,” mused Hashknife, as he rode slowly
+along the dusty road. “Yuh can dodge bullets just so long, but they’ll
+get yuh in the end. Dang Sleepy! If he’ll only keep his darned eyes
+open. He needs a keeper, that’s what he needs. Mebbe I won’t like this
+Circle Cross job--mebbe.”
+
+He found Jim Trainor sitting in an easy chair on the ranch-house porch,
+a bottle beside him and his right foot swathed in bandages.
+
+“Put up your bronc, Hartley,” he called. “You’ve got a job. Buck will
+show yuh where to put him.”
+
+Buck Avery called from the bunk-house and joined Hashknife at the barn,
+where they stabled the horse.
+
+“Bronc stepped on Jim’s foot,” explained Buck. “Dang fool won’t send for
+a doctor, so he can suffer for all of me. Yuh seen Poco, did yuh?”
+
+“Yeah, he sent me out.”
+
+They sauntered up to the ranch-house and Trainor yelled for Quong to
+bring two more glasses. Trainor was already half-drunk, but in a good
+humor.
+
+“I was wonderin’ if Poco would find yuh before yuh got another job,” he
+explained. “You’re a top-hand, I can see that, Hartley. Losin’ Smoky
+Cole kinda puts me short-handed, and now I go and get walked on. ----
+horse was sharp-shod, too. Pour your own drinks, gents.
+
+“I ought to be gettin’ an answer from Lanpher pretty soon. I found
+Mitchell, that lawyer, and told him to take the kid’s case, but the kid
+cussed ---- out of him. That sure is appreciation. I suppose things will
+have to ride about like they are until Lanpher shows up from Frisco and
+looks things over. What do you think of the case, Hartley?”
+
+“Well, it kinda looks like the kid was guilty,” observed Hashknife.
+“Mebbe the law will consider that they were both drunk at the time;
+but that’s a poor defense. A feller ain’t so awful drunk when he’ll
+bushwhack a man and kill him the first shot.”
+
+“Ben Lanpher is a good shot, too,” said Buck Avery. “He never did do
+nothin’ but drink whisky and practise shootin’.”
+
+“Two bad things to mix,” declared Trainor thoughtfully, and then--
+
+“Where’s your partner, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife looked up quickly.
+
+“Did yuh want to hire him, too?”
+
+“Want to--yes; but I haven’t work enough.”
+
+“He went out to the Tomahawk ranch. Sleepy’s always doin’ somethin’ for
+folks, and he kinda thought mebbe they’d need a little help. This deal
+makes it kinda tough for the Tomahawk.”
+
+“That’s a fact,” Trainor scowled at his glass, shaking his head sadly.
+“Yuh know, I should ’a’ sent one of the boys over there to help ’em
+out.”
+
+“They’d be welcome,” laughed Buck. “Welcome, like the smallpox.”
+
+“Me and Sleepy came past there a while back,” volunteered Hashknife.
+“Wasn’t sure just what ranch it was, but we was kinda dry; so we stopped
+for a drink. They treated us fine.”
+
+“You were lucky,” said Trainor, pouring himself another drink. “You work
+for me and you won’t dare go over there.”
+
+“They didn’t look dangerous. Nobody there, except the old lady, the girl
+and the half-breed puncher.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” Trainor’s voice was mildly sarcastic. “Don’t underrate that
+half-breed, Hartley. He’s one of the best rifle-shots you ever seen.”
+
+“Yeah?” Hashknife leaned back against a porch-post and hugged his knees.
+
+“Yuh know, I’ve never seen such a country for crack-shots as this is.
+Mostly everybody I’ve heard spoken about has that reputation. If trouble
+ever starts there won’t be more’n one box of shells needed to kill off
+the whole danged population.”
+
+Trainor laughed boisterously and handed the bottle to Buck.
+
+“We sure can shoot, can’t we, Buck? I betcha Hartley can shoot a few,
+too, eh, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“No-o-o, I wouldn’t say that, Trainor. Me and Sleepy never put
+ourselves up to be good shots, but we’re willin’ shooters. Lotsa
+folks can out-shoot us, but,” Hashknife grinned softly, “we’re still
+alive.”
+
+“And some of them ain’t, eh?” grinned Buck suggestively.
+
+“Every dog has its day,” said Hashknife slowly. “None of us can live
+forever. I always worked on the theory that bein’ right gives yuh the
+edge on folks that do wrong. That’s why a horse-thief goes to the end
+of his rope in a short time. A gunman cuts a short swath. If yuh
+notice, they don’t last long, and it’s because they’re all wrong. Look
+at Smoky Cole. Look at Ben Lanpher.”
+
+“Your theory don’t work out right, Hartley,” laughed Trainor. “It wasn’t
+a case of right winnin’ out there. Ben Lanpher wasn’t any more right
+than Smoky.”
+
+“All right--where’s Ben Lanpher? The law got him, and the law is right.”
+
+“Oh, to ---- with such arguments!” blurted Trainor. “Fill up your glass,
+Hartley. Here comes Poco. Didja tell him to get the mail, Buck?”
+
+“Yeah, I told him,” said Buck.
+
+Poco rode down to the stable, put up his horse and came slowly up to
+the house. He nodded to Hashknife and handed Trainor a telegram. Buck
+offered Poco a glass and the bottle, but the flinty-faced cowpuncher
+refused with a shrug of his thin shoulders.
+
+“Telegram from William Lanpher,” explained Trainor. “He’ll arrive at
+Wolf Wells tomorrow night. Don’t say whether he’s alone or not. ----
+it, I told him he ought to take Ben home months ago, but he wouldn’t
+do it.”
+
+“Ben is of age,” grunted Buck. “He had a birthday about a month ago and
+celebrated it by gettin’ drunk and shootin’ at himself in the Antelope
+mirror. There was busted glass all over the place. Somebody said he’d
+have bad luck for seven years.”
+
+“Mrs. Lanpher’ll probably come,” said Trainor thickly. “She thinks Ben’s
+a little tin god.”
+
+“He’s her son.” Thus Poco Saunders, speaking for the first time since he
+arrived.
+
+“He ain’t worth worryin’ about, that’s a cinch,” laughed Trainor.
+
+“Good or bad, their mother worries,” said Poco flatly, and got to his
+feet.
+
+He started to say something more, but changed his mind and went down to
+the bunk-house.
+
+Hashknife looked after him and squinted thoughtfully. He had disliked
+Poco Saunders--until that remark. It showed that somewhere inside that
+sinister-looking cowpuncher was a big spark of human nature.
+
+“Good or bad, their mother worries,” repeated Hashknife to himself. “She
+thinks that Ben is a tin-god--but he’s her son.”
+
+“Queer sort of a jigger,” said Buck, noticing that Hashknife was looking
+toward the bunk-house.
+
+“Poco don’t drink like other folks. He won’t take a drink until he is
+ready to get drunk. Then he hides his gun, and proceeds to get goshawful
+drunk. He won’t talk much, but he’s no fool, Poco ain’t.”
+
+“No, I betcha he ain’t,” agreed Hashknife. “If I was goin’ to pick an
+enemy, I sure wouldn’t pick Poco Saunders.”
+
+“The killin’ of Smoky Cole kinda hit him hard,” said Buck. “He used to
+grin once in a while, but now he goes around with the same hard-faced
+expression all the time. I’ll bet he’d make a scrap-heap out of Ben
+Lanpher, if he had the chance.”
+
+“Aw, to ---- with ’em all!” snorted Trainor. “Hey! Quong! Bring us
+another bottle. I’m celebratin’ a busted foot and I need a lot of
+liquor.”
+
+“Ex-cuse me then,” laughed Hashknife apologetically, “my stummick ain’t
+in good shape, and I never did need much liquor. I’ll go down and get
+used to the bunk-house.”
+
+Trainor frowned slightly, but gave a drunken shrug of his shoulders.
+
+“You know your own insides, Hartley. If me and Buck get plumb paralyzed,
+you and Poco run the ranch, will yuh?”
+
+“We’ll do our best,” laughed Hashknife, and went down to the bunk-house,
+where he found Poco Saunders playing solitaire.
+
+Poco nodded, but kept on with his game.
+
+“Which bunk do I take?” asked Hashknife.
+
+Poco pointed out two unoccupied bunks and began rolling a cigaret.
+His tobacco sack was almost empty, so Hashknife tossed a full sack in
+front of him. He nodded his thanks and finished his cigaret. Suddenly
+he turned and looked straight at Hashknife.
+
+“Do you think that Ben Lanpher killed Smoky Cole?”
+
+Hashknife’s face did not change a line, but his eyes squinted a trifle,
+as he replied--
+
+“What makes yuh think he didn’t, Saunders?”
+
+Poco turned back to the table and gathered up the cards.
+
+“I was just wonderin’,” he said slowly. “Lanpher was pretty drunk.”
+
+“If Ben didn’t kill him, who did?” asked Hashknife.
+
+He had asked the same question several times, but no one had given him
+the slightest clue to show who might have done the murder. And he was
+doomed to disappointment this time. Poco inhaled deeply and shuffled
+the cards.
+
+“There was several of that jury that was sore at him,” reminded
+Hashknife.
+
+“Not sore enough to murder him.”
+
+“Lotsa folks seem to think that Smoky Cole got what was comin’ to him.”
+
+“Thasso?” Poco scowled thoughtfully at his cards, and turned slowly,
+facing Hashknife.
+
+“They say that Smoky wasn’t any good, Hartley. He drank and raised ----
+in general every time he got money enough. Smoky was a gunman, and
+mebbe, accordin’ to law, he wasn’t just the sweetest little citizen yuh
+could imagine; but he was my bunkie.
+
+“Me and Smoky shared the same blanket for a long time. We split
+fifty-fifty on everythin’--me and Smoky did. He might ’a’ been an
+enemy of society, as the judge said at Cassidy’s trial, speakin’ about
+criminals, but he was a good friend of mine.”
+
+Poco shifted his eyes and looked out through the dusty window, where
+the last rays of the sunset back-lighted the old cottonwoods beyond
+the creek, and the lines of his face softened until he was no longer
+the sinister-looking cowboy.
+
+“He was my bunkie--my pal,” he said softly.
+
+“I reckon I understand,” said Hashknife slowly. “I’ve got a bunkie, too,
+Saunders.”
+
+Poco turned and looked at him, as he got slowly to his feet and walked
+over to the door.
+
+“I know yuh have,” said Poco softly, “and--and yuh might tell him to
+look out.”
+
+Hashknife squinted wonderingly, as Poco shut the door behind him.
+
+“What does he know?” wondered Hashknife, half-aloud. “And why does he
+tell me to warn Sleepy?”
+
+There was no question that Poco Saunders knew something; that he did
+not believe Ben Lanpher guilty of murder. Hashknife wondered if Poco
+knew something about the Fantom Riders, who were making inroads on
+the cattlemen of the Ghost Hills Range; and was afraid to name them.
+
+“It’s too foggy for me to see through,” he decided, “so I reckon we’ll
+have to let nature take her course.”
+
+Came the musical clanging of the cook’s triangle, which announced that
+supper was ready at the Circle Cross. As Hashknife stepped outside, Poco
+Saunders was crossing from the barn.
+
+“We’ll feed alone t’night,” he observed, motioning toward the front
+porch of the ranch-house.
+
+“Trainor and Buck are both paralyzed drunk.”
+
+“Do they make a practise of drinkin’ each other to sleep?” asked
+Hashknife.
+
+“No. Trainor don’t drink much, and Buck only cuts loose once a month.
+Help yourself to a wash-pan.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day, neither Trainor nor Buck Avery was in any shape for
+active duties. Hashknife asked Trainor what he wanted done, and
+Trainor was so muddled in the head that he had no coherent ideas. He
+finally told Hashknife to do what he pleased; so Hashknife saddled
+his gray bronco and headed into the hills, cutting across toward the
+Tomahawk.
+
+He wanted to find Sleepy and tell him what Poco Saunders had said; but
+most of all he wanted to see if Sleepy was all right.
+
+Circle Cross, Tomahawk and Flying M cattle dotted the hills, but the
+Circle Cross predominated. The feed was fairly good and there seemed
+plenty of water. It was an ideal range as far as nature was concerned.
+
+As he swung higher into the hills he could see the town of Wolf Wells,
+a blur of buildings in the swale-like little valley, and beyond that
+drifted the smoke of a train. There was little color in the hills. Even
+the foliage of the few trees was of a gray tint that blended into the
+gray of the forbidding-looking hills.
+
+“Ghost Hills is the right name for ’em,” he told his horse, as he swung
+along a hog-back, which led to the little valley of the Tomahawk ranch.
+
+He found Sleepy humped up in the doorway of the ranch-house, trying to
+coax a tune out of a one-string mandolin, while Lorna leaned against the
+wall and smiled at his serious efforts.
+
+“Hyah, cowboy!” yelled Sleepy. “By gosh, I’m glad for to see yuh. Git
+down and listen to the ‘Cowboy’s Lament,’ done to a turn on one string.”
+
+Hashknife dismounted and came up to the doorway. Lorna nodded to him,
+but it was plainly evident that he was not exactly welcome, and he
+blamed it to the fact that he was working for the Circle Cross. Mrs.
+Cassidy came to the door, bobbed her head and went back to her work.
+
+“Here, you play it, Lorna,” Sleepy handed her the mandolin, and grinned
+at Hashknife. “She can play it, too.”
+
+But Lorna did not seem disposed to exhibit her musical ability. She took
+the instrument and went into the house.
+
+“Callin’ her by her first name already, eh?” chided Hashknife seriously.
+
+Sleepy blushed and rubbed his stubbled chin.
+
+“Well, there ain’t no harm in that, is there?”
+
+“No-o-o, I s’pose not. Lemme tell yuh somethin’, cowboy.”
+
+And in a few words, Hashknife repeated what Poco Saunders had said.
+
+“What do yuh reckon he meant?” asked Sleepy. “Look out for what?”
+
+“Just that, and no more, Sleepy. I tell yuh, they’re on to us and Poco
+knows it.”
+
+“Yeah, and Poco’s probably one of the gang.”
+
+“If he is, why should he warn us?”
+
+Sleepy shook his head violently.
+
+“That’s what I hate about this ---- country, Hashknife. They’re all too
+scared to talk. But I found out that the Tomahawk has lost a lot of
+stock. And old Cassidy never killed that detective, no more than I did.
+There’s a bad, bad gang back in these hills, cowboy; and they swoop out
+and strike hard at anybody that horns into their business.”
+
+“Want to pick up and drift out?” queried Hashknife.
+
+Sleepy glanced back at the doorway and shook his head.
+
+“No more than you do, Hashknife. We’ll strike a lead pretty soon. I
+tried to pump the half-breed puncher, but he’s close-mouthed like all
+Injuns. Mebbe he don’t know any more than we do, but he’s scared to
+talk.”
+
+“Suppose we take a ride into the hills,” suggested Hashknife. “We’ll
+kinda look around and see what we can see.”
+
+“That’s a pious idea,” agreed Sleepy. “I’ll get my horse.”
+
+Lorna stood in the doorway and watched them ride away. Sleepy waved at
+her, but she made no move to show that she had seen him.
+
+“Yo’re free, white and twenty-one,” said Hashknife, “but you ain’t above
+takin’ friendly advice, are yuh, Sleepy?”
+
+“Well, I ain’t makin’ love to her--if that’s what yuh mean.”
+
+“Yuh don’t have to make love, cowboy. It’s already made. Do yuh know
+what I mean?”
+
+“Yore advice is accepted,” grinned Sleepy. “Let’s forget the female end
+of this proposition.”
+
+They rode straight back to the main divide of the Ghost Hills, and swung
+in a wide circle. It was a wild range, where an army might be able to
+hide without fear of detection. They found two deserted old cabins,
+windowless and doorless, where the range horses sought shelter from the
+flies; but there were no other signs of human habitation.
+
+It was nearly sundown when they came back to the Tomahawk. Jimmy, the
+half-breed, was there and greeted them with a grin. Hashknife did not
+dismount, but rode back to the Circle Cross, where he found supper on
+the table, Buck half-drunk again and Trainor swearing at his sore
+foot. Poco was eating supper.
+
+Buck was just drunk enough to be quarrelsome, and insisted that he was
+going down to meet the Lanpher family, or as many of them as were coming
+that night.
+
+Trainor was just as emphatic in telling Buck that he was seven kinds of
+a fool to even think he was. Trainor appealed to Hashknife.
+
+“He’d be a fine lookin’ thing to meet the owner of this ranch, wouldn’t
+he? Wouldn’t Mrs. Lanpher and Helen appreciate havin’ him meet ’em,
+Hartley?”
+
+“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “I dunno them folks, but I reckon yo’re
+right.”
+
+Buck exploded with protestations that he was as sober as a judge, and
+called upon Poco to look upon him and see if he--Buck--wasn’t fit to
+meet a king and queen.
+
+But Poco refused to be drawn into the argument and Buck subsided in a
+chair, where he began to snore.
+
+“I don’t like to ask it of yuh, Hartley,” said Trainor, “but would yuh
+mind meetin’ them folks and bringin’ ’em out here? They’ll be in about
+nine o’clock tonight,” if the train is on time, which it probably won’t
+be.
+
+“You can get a two-seated hack at the livery-stable and lead your horse
+back. Yuh won’t be able to miss ’em, ’cause we don’t have many strangers
+come into Wolf Wells.”
+
+“Sure, I’ll go after ’em, Trainor. As soon as I get through eatin’ a bit
+of supper, I’ll go right down-town.”
+
+“Take yore time, Hartley. I’m goin’ to bed right now. This danged foot
+is givin’ me thunder tonight, and I drank too much last night. Feller’s
+a fool to drink whisky.”
+
+Hashknife sat down across from Poco and accepted of Quong’s culinary
+art. He had not eaten since breakfast, and the fat Celestial grinned
+with delight as Hashknife stowed away great quantities of food.
+
+“Belly good,” observed Quong, “Cook plenty--nobody eat. Too much whisky,
+yo’ _sabe_? Yo’ eat good, I’m ve’y glad.”
+
+“Then I’ll make yuh glad a lot of times,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Hashknife took his time, and it was growing dark when he mounted his
+gray bronco and headed for Wolf Wells. Just before he reached the forks
+of the road he saw a rider pass, going toward town.
+
+It was a little too far for identification, but he noted that the man
+was riding a gray or a grayish-roan horse. The rider had disappeared
+when Hashknife reached the main road, and he made no effort to overtake
+him.
+
+The air was cool and Hashknife had plenty of time to go to town and
+arrange for the livery-rig before train-time. He was riding slowly,
+scanning the road, near the spot where Ben Lanpher’s gun had been
+found, when the whip-like report of a rifle sounded from the left.
+
+Hashknife’s horse swerved quickly, and for a moment Hashknife thought
+the shot had been fired at him, but there had been no sound from a
+bullet. He dropped off his horse, drew his six-shooter and led the
+horse down the road.
+
+There were no more shots. The fringe of timber and brush along the
+road masked him from the hillside, but also precluded any chance of
+his seeing the shooter.
+
+He led his horse around the first turn and stopped short. Almost at the
+same spot where Smoky Cole had been killed stood a man and a horse. The
+man appeared to be leaning against the horse, as if bracing himself, but
+when he saw Hashknife he threw up a six-shooter and fired.
+
+Hashknife instinctively ducked, but the bullet hummed off through the
+brush ten feet away, and the man mounted swiftly although awkwardly and
+raced down the road.
+
+Hashknife threw up his gun, but snapped it back into its holster, as he
+mounted swiftly and spurred after the rider.
+
+He knew the speed of his gray horse, and felt sure that he could run his
+quarry down, if they kept to the road.
+
+“Left handed son-of-a-gun!” snorted Hashknife. “Can’t shoot straight,
+that’s a cinch. C’mon, bronc!”
+
+They whirled out into the more open country and Hashknife grinned to see
+that the rider was still traveling down the road. But the horse ahead,
+even with its long handicap start, was no match for the long-legged
+gray, which cut down its lead at every stride.
+
+The rider looked wildly back and even turned in his saddle and tried to
+get into position for another shot, but, as the running gray horse drew
+closer, he jerked up on his reins and threw up his hands in token of
+surrender.
+
+“Don’t shoot!” he called, and Hashknife squinted through a cloud of dust
+at the face of Jimmy, the half-breed.
+
+Hashknife moved in closer and noticed that Jimmy’s right arm was
+bleeding badly.
+
+“That’s why yuh shot left-handed, eh?” panted Hashknife.
+
+“Yeah,” Jimmy nodded quickly. “Other arm no good.”
+
+“Who shot yuh?”
+
+Jimmy squinted at Hashknife and licked his lips.
+
+“You don’t shoot me?” he asked.
+
+“No. I heard the shot. Then you shot at me?”
+
+Jimmy nodded and felt of his arm tenderly.
+
+“I thought you shoot me, but I guess not. You can’t be two place same
+time. Who shoot me, you s’pose?”
+
+“Hard to tell, Jimmy. Is your arm hurt bad?”
+
+“Pretty bad. Almost knock me off horse.”
+
+He rolled up his sleeve and they examined the wound. The bullet had
+struck near the wrist and had cut a furrow almost to the elbow. It was
+a painful, but not a serious wound; and Hashknife bound it up with a
+big handkerchief.
+
+“How in thunder did yuh get hit in that arm?” queried Hashknife. “The
+shot came from the left-side of the road.”
+
+“I dunno,” said Jimmy blankly. “I reach up to rub my nose, I think.”
+
+“By gosh, that was close!” exploded Hashknife, “that bullet must ’a’
+passed close to yore chin, hooked into yore wrist and kicked loose at
+your elbow. Now, who in ---- wants to kill you, Jimmy?”
+
+Jimmy’s eyes were troubled as he thought deeply, but his answer was not
+at all evasive:
+
+“I dunno. I never hurt nobody.”
+
+“All right, Jimmy; let’s be driftin’.”
+
+“I go after coffee,” explained Jimmy. “Lorna want coffee for Sleepy.”
+
+Hashknife grinned widely, as they rode on, but deep in his heart he was
+afraid that Sleepy might fall in love with this half-breed girl. But he
+forgot that as he studied Jimmy and his grayish-roan horse.
+
+It would have been easy to mistake them in that light for himself and
+the gray horse, he reflected. Were the Fantom Riders aware that he and
+Sleepy were trying to smoke them out, and were trying to ambush them?
+
+If that were the case, they would get them sooner or later. Hashknife
+shuddered slightly. He was convinced that they had mistaken their man
+and had injured Jimmy. There was no way to guard against an ambush.
+They would likely try another place next time. He turned to Jimmy.
+
+“You better see a doctor about that arm, Jimmy. I’ll pay the bill.”
+
+“No,” Jimmy shook his head quickly. “I go back and let Minnie fix it.
+She know how.”
+
+“Minnie is Mrs. Cassidy, ain’t she?”
+
+“Yeah.”
+
+“Are you and Lorna related?”
+
+“---- no! My mother and Minnie sisters, thasall.”
+
+Hashknife grinned, but did not try to explain that Jimmy and Lorna were
+cousins. Anyway, it would mean nothing to Jimmy.
+
+Hashknife left Jimmy at the general store and went to arrange for the
+livery-rig. He knew that Jimmy would not discuss the shooting with any
+one. Coming back from the livery-stable he found the sheriff at his
+office.
+
+“Lanpher’s comin’, eh?” said the sheriff, after Hashknife had spoken of
+meeting him at the depot.
+
+“The rest of the family comin’?”
+
+“I dunno. The telegram didn’t say, but Trainor talks like they was all
+comin’.”
+
+“I kinda feel sorry for them folks,” mused the sheriff. “I like Lanpher.
+Never did get acquainted with his wife and daughter. I reckon I’ll go
+over with yuh and meet ’em.”
+
+Contrary to predictions the train was on time. Lanpher, his wife and
+daughter were all there, with innumerable bags and suitcases. Hashknife
+was lucky enough to reach Lanpher first, and gave him the whispered
+warning--
+
+“Remember, you don’t know me.”
+
+Then came the sheriff, hand outstretched.
+
+“Glad to meetcha ag’in, Lanpher; but not under these circumstances.”
+
+Lanpher shook hands with him, and asked--
+
+“Can we see Ben?”
+
+“Sure thing, yuh can. He don’t know yo’re comin’, but I’ll bet he’ll be
+glad to see yuh all. Hartley’ll take care of yore things.”
+
+Hashknife was glad to get them out of his way, while he loaded the
+baggage. He drove the team down to the sheriff’s office and waited for
+them to finish their visit. They were in there quite a while, and had
+nothing to say when they climbed into the two-seater and headed for the
+ranch.
+
+Lanpher rode with Hashknife on the front seat, and after they were out
+of the town he asked--
+
+“Well, what have you found out, Hartley?”
+
+“We’ve found out that a man’s life ain’t worth a plugged dime, Lanpher.
+As far as the rustlers are concerned, they’re as safe as ever. We can’t
+find out a thing. I’m with the Circle Cross and Sleepy is with the
+Tomahawk; but we’ll both be cowboy angels pretty soon, I reckon.”
+
+“But they do not know what you are doing here,” protested Lanpher.
+
+“Don’t they? That’s fine,” Hashknife laughed softly. “There’s been a
+leak somewhere, Lanpher. They sure do know us. You didn’t wire anybody,
+did yuh?”
+
+“No, I did not. I was willing to let you two run this to suit
+yourselves, Hartley. I wired Trainor that we were coming, but that is
+the only wire I have sent him since you were at my home.”
+
+“It’s sure got me fightin’ my head,” admitted Hashknife.
+
+“What do you make of the case against Ben?”
+
+“Well, it looks to me like another Fantom Rider deal, and Ben accidently
+happens along and gets the blame for it. He didn’t kill Smoky Cole.”
+
+“I want to thank you for that,” said Mrs. Lanpher brokenly. “It is good
+to think that someone besides us believes him innocent.”
+
+“Cassidy is very bitter,” said Lanpher, after a long pause. “He cursed
+me in the jail a while ago. He seems to blame me for what has happened
+to him, but I had nothing to do with it. The sheriff told me that
+Trainor was crippled.”
+
+“Yeah, I forgot to tell yuh that. A horse stepped on him.”
+
+“Too bad. What do you think of the Circle Cross?”
+
+“Dunno yet. Looks like a rich ranch.”
+
+“Rich! Say, you’d be surprized to know what that ranch has already
+cost me, Hartley. I’d sell out in a minute, if I could get back what
+I’ve spent on it.”
+
+“I’ll betcha. Hills are pretty tonight, ain’t they?”
+
+They drove up to the ranch-house and Trainor hobbled out to meet them,
+with the aid of a cane. Hashknife unloaded the baggage and placed it on
+the porch, while they went into the house.
+
+Then he drove to the barn, unhitched the horses, stabled them and went
+to the bunk-house where he found Buck and Poco snoring a duet. Buck had
+a half-empty whisky-bottle on a chair beside his bunk, and one of his
+boots had been placed upside down over a bunk-post.
+
+Hashknife rolled a cigaret and sat down on the edge of his bunk to
+remove his boots. Poco stirred, sat up, his eyes filled with sleep. He
+squinted at Hashknife, grunted a hoarse greeting and slumped back on to
+his pillow. One of Poco’s hands was exposed and Hashknife noticed that
+there was a circle of whang-leather around his wrist. He looked closer,
+when he saw that a leather thong ran from the wrist under the blanket,
+and was drawn taut.
+
+Poco’s cartridge belt was hanging from the bunk-post, and over this
+was hung a coat, but when Hashknife crossed to the table to light his
+cigaret from over the chimney of the oil-lamp, he was able to see that
+the holster was empty.
+
+Hashknife went back, undressed and blew out the lamp. He sat on the edge
+of the bunk for a long time, but finally crawled between the blankets
+and placed his six-shooter under the blanket beside him.
+
+“Poco is scared of somethin’,” mused Hashknife. “He’s got his six-gun
+linked to him--and a feller don’t anchor himself to a thing like that
+to keep from fallin’ out of bed. Dang him, I’d like to trade talk with
+him. But I reckon he’s scared like everybody else--and me included.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Buck is goin’ over to the Flyin’ M to see old man Shappee for me, and
+Poco is goin’ to drive an extra team to town; so we can get rid of this
+livery-outfit. You can go with Buck, if yuh want to, or yuh can stay
+here and see what yuh can do about fixin’ up the fence of the brandin’
+corral.”
+
+Trainor had hobbled down to the barn, with the aid of a cane; and was
+talking with Hashknife while Poco and Buck harnessed the teams.
+
+“Well, yo’re the boss,” smiled Hashknife. “I’ll go with Buck if yuh say
+so; but it don’t take two men to pack a message. Mebbe I better fix up
+that fence.”
+
+“Whatever yuh want to do, Hartley. Mr. and Mrs. Lanpher want to go down
+and see Ben; so I’ll go with ’em. Miss Lanpher has a bad headache and
+will stay home.”
+
+“All right, I’ll stay here and help Quong run the ranch.”
+
+Poco drove away with the ranch-wagon, while Buck drove up to the house
+with the livery-rig, picked up the Lanphers and Trainor and drove away.
+
+Hashknife secured a hammer and nails and worked on the corral for a
+time; but Hashknife was no carpenter and the work palled. Anyway, it
+was too hot to work. He went back and sat down in the shade of the
+bunk-house. Somehow, he felt much safer with a solid wall at his
+back.
+
+Miss Lanpher came out on the ranch-house porch and sat down with a
+magazine. She glanced idly through it for a while, but put it aside
+and looked around.
+
+Hashknife got up and walked to the porch.
+
+“Mornin’, Miss Lanpher. How’s the headache?”
+
+She looked at him closely, frowned slightly and said--
+
+“I do not believe I have ever met you.”
+
+“Yes’m, yuh have,” he smiled. “Me and Sleepy was at your house in Frisco
+not long ago. Yore pa introduced us.”
+
+“Perhaps,” she nodded coldly, “but I do not remember you. Are you one of
+the cowboys?”
+
+“Well,” Hashknife scratched his head thoughtfully, “yuh might brand me
+as such. I brought yuh in from Wolf Wells last night, if yuh remember.”
+
+“Oh, you were the driver.”
+
+She picked up the magazine and opened it before she looked at him and
+said--
+
+“Is there something I can do for you?”
+
+Hashknife’s smile faded and he studied her for a moment.
+
+“Yes’m, I was just kinda wonderin’, don’tcha know it?”
+
+“Well?” Icily.
+
+“Just kinda wonderin’ if it’s the fogs that make Frisco folks so
+chilly.”
+
+She looked questioningly at him, as if at a loss to know what he
+meant; but he merely turned, put on his hat and walked back toward the
+bunk-house.
+
+“That was a ---- mean thing to say,” he chuckled to himself. “But she’s
+prob’ly so high-toned that she’d have to have it explained to her.”
+
+He went back to the corral and spent the rest of the morning hammering
+lustily. The ringing of the triangle, as Quong announced the mid-day
+meal, caused him to hang up his hammer and admire the collection of
+bruises he had acquired.
+
+Quong was standing just outside the kitchen, fanning himself with a
+towel as Hashknife came striding across the yard, heading for the
+wash-bench.
+
+Suddenly he jolted hard in his stride and jerked sidewise. An angry
+bee had buzzed past his head, or what had seemed to be a whizzer of
+some sort; but the buzz was punctuated by a loud--
+
+_Whap!_
+
+Quong dropped his towel and jerked away, staring wildly at the
+door-casing behind him, where a bullet had drilled a neat hole.
+
+_Zee-e-e-e--blam!_
+
+Then came the thin, far-away crack of a rifle. Quong fairly fell into
+the kitchen, and Hashknife was right on his heels.
+
+The second bullet had gone in through the doorway and had torn a gaping
+hole in Quong’s big copper kettle on the stove, and the soup was spewing
+out all over the hot griddles.
+
+The room was filled with steam and odors of burning grease, plentifully
+mixed with Celestial chatter that might be oaths or prayers.
+
+Hashknife grasped a cloth and managed to fling the kettle outside. Miss
+Lanpher came to the door from the dining-room, wondering at the turmoil.
+She stared around, and Quong caught sight of her. He immediately began
+bombarding her with pidgin-English, but Hashknife stopped him.
+
+“Wait a minute, Quong,” and then to Miss Lanpher--
+
+“Miss Lanpher, this is Quong, the cook. Quong, this is Miss Lanpher.”
+
+Hashknife stepped gracefully back and motioned for Quong to continue,
+but Quong had forgotten what to say, and turned back to his stove.
+
+Miss Lanpher looked coldly at Hashknife and her eyebrows lifted a
+trifle, as she said:
+
+“That was very thoughtful of you, I am sure. But I have known Quong a
+long time. I was here several weeks about a year ago.”
+
+“Oh, yeah. Well, it was my mistake, ma’am.”
+
+“Now, what happened in here, Mr. Hartley?”
+
+“Well, Miss Lanpher, somebody took two shots at the cook and ventilated
+the soup-pot. Nothin’ serious.”
+
+“Took a shot at the cook?” she gasped. “Why--why how ridiculous!”
+
+“Yes’m, I s’pose it was. Missed him both times, too.”
+
+She called to Quong and he stopped wiping the stove long enough to turn
+his head.
+
+“Quong, did somebody shoot at you?”
+
+He looked fearfully toward the door and nodded violently.
+
+“Yessash, two time. I go way bimeby. Too ---- much shoot fo’ me. Soup
+all gone; kittle busted. ----’s bells!”
+
+“Quong!”
+
+Hashknife laughed and went to the door, where he managed to retrieve
+the punctured kettle with a broom-handle. He dumped out the soup-bone,
+and with it came a battered piece of lead--the badly mushroomed bullet
+that had busted up Quong’s soup.
+
+Hashknife examined it closely and showed it to Quong.
+
+“Looks like a thirty-thirty, Quong.”
+
+Calibers meant nothing in Quong’s life, but he realized what that
+bullet would have done to him. Hashknife showed it to Miss Lanpher,
+but it failed to excite her in the least.
+
+“Who would shoot at Quong?” she asked, as if she did not believe it at
+all.
+
+Quong turned quickly, a grin on his fat face.
+
+“Mebbyso acclident. Somebody shoot clyote--bullet come heah. What you
+t’ink?”
+
+“Now that’s fine,” laughed Hashknife. “I’ll betcha that’s it, Quong. Too
+bad it busted the kettle.”
+
+“You mean that they were shooting at something else and the bullet
+accidently came down here?” Thus Miss Lanpher, incredulously.
+
+“There’s a lot of coyotes in the hills,” said Hashknife, evading the
+direct question.
+
+“There’s some wolves and a lot of pole-cats, too, ma’am. I wish--say,
+Quong; has Trainor got a rifle here in the house?”
+
+“Yessah. One rifle in room. I show you.”
+
+Quong trotted out and came back in a minute with a Winchester 45-70,
+which he handed to Hashknife, but Hashknife told him to take it back.
+
+He had thought of going out into the hills and try to find the man who
+had fired the two shots, but decided that it would be a hopeless search.
+
+Hashknife also knew that those shots were fired at him and not at the
+Chinese cook. He had been in line with Quong, who was in the shade and
+probably not visible to the man behind the rifle. From the reports of
+the gun, the man was shooting at extreme long range--and shooting only
+too well to suit Hashknife.
+
+“They’ll be dynamitin’ the bunk-house next,” mused Hashknife to himself,
+as Quong prepared the meal. “I’ve been lucky so far--but can it last?”
+
+Miss Lanpher had retired to the front of the house, so Hashknife ate
+alone.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was in the middle of the afternoon when Trainor, Mr. and Mrs. Lanpher
+and Poco Saunders came back from town. Hashknife did not go up to the
+house, but helped Poco unhitch the team. Poco was as uncommunicative as
+ever.
+
+As they came out of the stable, Trainor was hobbling toward them, but
+stopped and called to Hashknife--
+
+“What’s this I hear about somebody shootin’ at Quong?”
+
+“Oh, that,” Hashknife laughed and looked back toward the hills, “I
+reckon somebody was shootin’ at coyotes. They came darn near hittin’
+the Chinaman, though. Lotsa folks are careless thataway.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” Trainor grunted his unbelief. “Shootin’ kinda high, wasn’t
+they, Hartley?”
+
+“Kinda.”
+
+“Say, do you really think they were shootin’ at coyotes?”
+
+“Well,” smiled Hashknife, “that’s all a matter of opinion. Mebbe the
+shooter felt thataway about it.”
+
+“Uh-huh, I see what yuh mean.”
+
+Trainor turned and went back to the house. Poco Saunders had heard the
+conversation, and now he turned and went into the bunk-house ahead of
+Hashknife, who shut the door and faced him.
+
+Poco’s eyes narrowed, but he feigned not to notice Hashknife’s steady
+gaze. Finally Hashknife said--
+
+“Poco, I’ll trade talk with yuh.”
+
+“Trade talk?” Poco did not seem to understand.
+
+“Yeah. I was shot at twice this afternoon.”
+
+“I had nothin’ to do with that, Hartley.”
+
+“Why do yuh tie yore gun to yuh at night, Poco?”
+
+Poco started slightly, but his face did not betray that he was caught
+off his guard.
+
+“Yore bunkie was shot from ambush, Poco,” continued Hashknife. “Are you
+afraid of the same thing?”
+
+Poco studied the question thoughtfully.
+
+“Why should I be afraid?” he asked.
+
+“I asked to trade talk--not to answer questions.”
+
+“Why should I trade talk? I know nothin’.”
+
+“All right.”
+
+Hashknife turned to his bunk, but stopped.
+
+“Why did Pinto Cassidy draw a dead-line between his place and the Circle
+Cross?”
+
+“I don’t know,” replied Poco; and Hashknife felt that he was telling the
+truth.
+
+“Are yuh afraid to talk about the rustlers who have been stealing stock
+on this range, Poco?”
+
+“Why talk about ’em?”
+
+“Well, for one reason is this--they’ve killed three men from ambush
+already.”
+
+“Three? You don’t think that Ben Lanpher killed----”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“Last night Jimmy, the half-breed, was shot in the arm, at the same spot
+where Smoky Cole was killed.”
+
+“He was?” Poco squinted thoughtfully, and Hashknife noticed that Poco’s
+knuckles were white from their grip on his belt.
+
+“Now, will yuh trade talk with me, Poco?”
+
+But Poco shook his head slowly, his teeth shut tight.
+
+“No, I can’t trade a talk, because I know nothin’.”
+
+As Hashknife turned away, Buck Avery came in. He was half-drunk and was
+carrying a bottle in his hand, which he put under his pillow.
+
+“Hyah, cowboys!” he greeted them. “Help yourself to the liquor. Reg’lar
+old poultry cocktail, that is. Six drinks and yuh lay. Hartley, yuh old
+son-of-a-gun, don’t yuh never drink anythin’?”
+
+But before Hashknife could reply, Trainor came to the door.
+
+“Did you see old man Shappee, Buck?” he asked.
+
+“Yeah; be right with yuh, Jim.”
+
+Buck kicked off his chaps, joined Trainor and they went toward the house
+together.
+
+“Buck’s drinkin’ too much,” observed Poco. “He can’t let it alone when
+he starts once. Trainor knows that, and he was a ---- fool to start Buck
+off the other night.”
+
+“Trainor ain’t picked another foreman yet, has he?” asked Hashknife
+casually.
+
+“Nope. Prob’ly pick Buck, though. Buck has been with him ever since he
+took over the Circle Cross. Smoky and Buck came here together.”
+
+“How long you been here, Poco?”
+
+“ ’Bout a year. Me and Smoky worked together before.”
+
+“Well, I’m not goin’ to stay a year,” laughed Hashknife. “There’s too
+much promiscuous shootin’ goin’ on around here to suit me. Everybody’s
+scared to talk for fear they’re talkin’ to the person who is doin’ all
+the dirty work. It’s a ---- of a country, thasall.”
+
+“Yeah,” nodded Poco solemnly. “I reckon that about describes it,
+Hartley.”
+
+Hashknife went outside and sat down on a bench beside the door. Buck was
+near the kitchen door, busy at the wash-bench and talking to Quong who
+was standing in the doorway. Miss Lanpher was out in the front yard,
+looking at a stunted rosebush, and Trainor was walking out to her.
+
+She looked up, as he drew closer and seemed to be talking to her. For a
+few moments she listened to him; and then walked past him and into the
+house.
+
+“He got froze up, too,” chuckled Hashknife aloud.
+
+“He sure did,” agreed Poco, who had come to the door and noticed it.
+
+“He’s stuck on her pretty bad, I reckon. Anyway, he was kinda hard
+hit when she turned him down. I don’t see nothin’ to her m’self. Too
+danged high-toned. Trainor’s a lot older than she is, and he ain’t so
+---- handsome either.”
+
+“If she wants beauty I might stand a chance,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+“Yuh can’t any more than get turned down.”
+
+“I’ve had mine, Poco.”
+
+Trainor walked around to the kitchen door and began talking to Buck, who
+threw his wash-pan of dirty water out on to the ground and slammed the
+pan viciously onto the bench.
+
+They both seemed angry, but talked in low tones. Finally Buck whirled
+and came toward the bunk-house, swearing to himself. As he came up to
+the door he looked back toward the house, where Trainor was standing,
+looking toward them.
+
+“I’ll drink when and where I ---- please!” snarled Buck, and went into
+the bunk-house, where he piled up on his bed and went to sleep.
+
+That Buck had no respect for Trainor’s authority was attested by the
+fact that Buck drank at intervals all night, and dug a fresh quart of
+liquor from beneath his straw tick the next morning.
+
+He was incoherent in everything, except profanity, and refused to answer
+the breakfast call. Trainor’s foot was much better, and he was jovial at
+breakfast.
+
+“Hartley, you will go with Lanpher and me today. We’re goin’ to look
+over the range. Poco will drive the ladies to town.”
+
+“Somebody ought to stay with Buck,” said Hashknife. “He’s in bad shape.”
+
+“Let him sleep it off!” grated Trainor. “The fool won’t let whisky
+alone; so he’s the one to suffer.”
+
+They saddled their horses after breakfast and rode into the hills.
+Lanpher was unused to the saddle and knew little about riding, which
+handicapped them as far as speed was concerned.
+
+They rode northeast almost to the main divide and swung around through
+the breaks, giving Lanpher some idea of what he owned. He had little
+to say, except in an undertone to Trainor. In fact, most of their
+conversation was handled in such a way that Hashknife was excluded.
+
+Hashknife kept his eyes open and studied the country. On this side
+of the range there were few cattle of any brand, although there was
+plenty of water and feed. Hashknife remarked about it, but Trainor
+merely nodded and did not reply.
+
+Lanpher looked queerly at Hashknife, as much as to say--
+
+“You know the reason well enough.”
+
+Trainor had tied a lunch to the back of his saddle, and they ate at a
+spring far back in the hills. During the course of the lunch, Lanpher
+remarked--
+
+“Carsten was in to see me not long ago, Jim.”
+
+“That so?”
+
+“Yes. Just a friendly call, he said; but wanted to know what we had that
+was for sale.”
+
+“What did you tell him?”
+
+“Well, I told him I didn’t know. He said that beef was due to take a
+raise pretty soon. I’m not kicking on prices.”
+
+“No.” Trainor shook his head. “We have no kick on the price of beef and
+hides.”
+
+They finished their lunch and mounted again. Hashknife grinned as
+Lanpher settled himself tenderly in the saddle and braced his feet
+solidly in the stirrups.
+
+It was almost dark when they arrived at the ranch-house. Lanpher was
+thoroughly tired so Hashknife took care of the horse for him. Poco had
+just fed the wagon-team and told Hashknife that they had just arrived
+a short time before.
+
+“What’s new in Wolf Wells?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Nothin’ much. I seen your pardner and the half-breed girl down there
+about noon. He’s workin’ at the Tomahawk, ain’t he?”
+
+“Well, I dunno about the work part of it,” laughed Hashknife, as they
+entered the bunk-house.
+
+Buck was still stretched out on the bunk and an empty bottle attested
+to the fact that Buck was “full as a tick.” Poco tried to rouse him,
+but Buck refused to give more than a grunt.
+
+Trainor ate supper with Hashknife and Poco, after the Lanpher family
+had eaten, and during the meal the sheriff and Lonesome Hobbs rode in.
+Hashknife saw them from the window, but said nothing. They dismounted
+and went to the front of the house.
+
+“What’s comin’ off around here?” wondered Hashknife, as he saw three
+more riders ride down past the house and tie their horses to a corral
+fence.
+
+He recognized one of them as being Ability Edwards. Trainor saw them,
+too, and hurriedly finished the rest of his meal. After he went out,
+Hashknife said to Poco:
+
+“The sheriff and deputy came a few minutes ago, and just now, three more
+men rode in. What do yuh make of it?”
+
+Poco halted with a cup at his lips, slowly placed it back in the saucer
+and got to his feet. He went to the door and looked out. Hashknife got
+up and went over to him.
+
+The men had grouped a short distance from the porch and were talking
+as they looked down the road toward town. In a few moments three more
+riders appeared.
+
+“That’s Jud Carey, Bert Elhoff and Honey Simpson, all from the 66
+outfit,” said Poco. “Them first three are old man Shappee, Bility
+Edwards and Baldy Shannon, from the Flyin’ M. I wonder what it
+means.”
+
+“Let’s horn in and find out,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+The three riders dismounted and joined the group.
+
+“Well, I reckon we’re all here,” observed Trainor, “so we might as well
+go into the house.”
+
+He led the way into the living-room and the men sat down on the chairs,
+or squatted on their heels against the wall. Lanpher had joined them at
+the door. Trainor glanced around at the group, but said nothing to Poco
+and Hashknife, who had invited themselves.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said Trainor seriously, “I reckon you all know why yo’re
+here this evenin’. We’ve all suffered alike in this matter, and I think
+the time has come when we will have to step out into the open.
+
+“Mr. Lanpher--” Trainor indicated him--“I reckon most of yuh met him
+when he was here before, and yuh know he is half-owner of the Circle
+Cross. He advised me to have yuh meet here and try to figure out some
+way to handle this proposition.
+
+“I know how yuh feel about it. We’ve all been afraid to talk about
+it--or to do much. But I’ll tell yuh it’s comin’ to a showdown. I
+don’t mind tellin’ yuh that the two men of mine that were killed were
+detectives; sent here by the association.
+
+“Whether or not Smoky Cole was killed by the same gang, we don’t know. I
+hope it can be proved on ’em. Yesterday two shots were fired from back
+there in the hills. One of ’em hit the casing of the kitchen door, while
+the other went into the kitchen and smashed into a kettle. Hartley, over
+there, was going toward the door at the time, and my cook was beside the
+doorway. I don’t know which they were trying to kill.”
+
+The cattlemen considered this, as they looked at Hashknife and at each
+other. Old man Shappee, a typical old cattleman, cleared his throat
+raspingly.
+
+“What did you ever do to ’em, Hartley?” he asked.
+
+“It was kinda hard to tell--at that distance,” grinned Hashknife, and
+the men smiled with him.
+
+“Now, who has an idea to work on?” asked Trainor.
+
+The men stirred uneasily. None of them seemed to want to commit
+themselves. Finally Jud Carey, a lanky, middle-aged man stood up.
+
+“I dunno how anybody could figure out an idea,” he drawled slowly. “It
+ain’t like buckin’ somethin’ that yuh can see, Jim. The 66 has lost a
+lot of stock, but none of us has been shot at--yet.”
+
+He sat down slowly and lighted a cigaret.
+
+“Aw, ----!” exploded Trainor. “Is everybody afraid to talk? Are we goin’
+to set here and shiver in our boots while a gang of bushwackin’ rustlers
+shoot our men from ambush and run off our stock?”
+
+“All right--tell us what to do,” suggested Shappee.
+
+“Well,” Trainor hesitated, “I’m ----ed if I know what to do. Lanpher
+and I have done what we think is the best thing; but we can’t ask the
+association to send more men to the slaughter.”
+
+“How did this gang find out that they were detectives?” asked Bility
+Edwards.
+
+“Nobody knows.”
+
+“They’re sure a slick outfit,” observed the sheriff. “I didn’t know that
+these men were detectives. Nobody ever told me about ’em. One was killed
+near town and the other one on the Tomahawk ranch. It’s almost a cinch
+that old Cassidy didn’t kill both of ’em.”
+
+“Cassidy’s a salty old son-of-a-gun, but I’ll bet he never killed that
+feller,” said Shappee, but qualified his statement with--
+
+“Unless he’s one of the gang himself.”
+
+“And that’s what we don’t know,” said Trainor.
+
+“Would it do you any good to make up a big posse and hunt every inch of
+the hills?” asked the sheriff.
+
+“How would we know but what the men we’re lookin’ for would be ridin’
+along with us?” asked Carey.
+
+“I dunno,” said the sheriff foolishly.
+
+“Well, anythin’ is better than settin’ around and bein’ shot at, I
+should think,” observed Shappee. “I’m ready to ride or do anythin’ the
+majority wants to do.”
+
+“I wish I knew what to suggest.” Thus William Lanpher, who had been a
+good listener.
+
+“I have spent money for investigators, who have been killed. This is
+very unfortunate. I do not know how much stock you men have lost, but I
+do know that we have suffered severely. And, gentlemen, it is not going
+to stop, unless we are able to stop it.”
+
+“Yuh can’t expect ’em to draw out of a cinch game, can yuh?” queried
+Bility Edwards.
+
+“Why would they kill Smoky Cole?” demanded Lonesome, who had hardly
+spoken since he arrived. “Smoky wasn’t no detective.”
+
+“We don’t know that they did,” said Trainor, “but we hope it can be laid
+to their door so as to clear Ben Lanpher of the charge.”
+
+“----, he was too drunk to bushwhack anybody that day,” declared
+Lonesome. “I reckon they done it.”
+
+“They’re promiscuous all right,” agreed Hashknife heartily. “Night
+before last they shot Jimmy Droop-drawers, the Tomahawk half-breed,
+while he was ridin’ along the same place that Smoky Cole was killed.”
+
+“For gosh sake!” exploded Shappee, while the rest of them grunted or
+cursed in astonishment.
+
+“You didn’t tell me about this,” said Trainor seriously.
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“No, I thought yuh had troubles enough, Trainor.”
+
+“Nobody told me,” complained the sheriff. “Was he hurt much?”
+
+Hashknife explained the extent of his injuries.
+
+“And why did they try to kill the breed?” queried Lonesome dismally.
+
+“My ----, why don’tcha do somethin’, except ask questions?” snorted the
+sheriff.
+
+“Show me anybody that’s doin’ better than that,” replied Lonesome. “I’m
+askin’ ---- pointed ones, y’betcha.”
+
+Lonesome’s reply brought a grin, but it was short-lived.
+
+Came the sound of a hurried footstep, the door was flung open and Lorna
+Cassidy almost fell inside the room. She shut the door behind her and
+stood with her back against it.
+
+She was hatless, one sleeve of her dress was torn badly. Her hair was
+wind-blown and one of her long braids was wrapped once around her neck;
+as though she had ridden fast and far through the wind.
+
+She looked from face to face in that smoke-fogged room, her lips shut
+tight, her eyes blazing, until she caught sight of Hashknife, and spoke
+directly to him.
+
+“Your pardner was shot--hour--or--so--ago!” she panted.
+
+Hashknife sprang to his feet, as did the rest of the men.
+
+“My pardner--Sleepy. Shot? Not dead?”
+
+She shook her head, her eyes still searching the room.
+
+“No, not dead; hurt bad.”
+
+Hashknife went to her and took her by the arm.
+
+“Don’t hurry,” he advised her hoarsely. “Take yore time and tell us all
+about it.”
+
+She nodded, leaning against the door, as she looked from face to face.
+She appeared to be looking for some one.
+
+“We were out riding,” she said slowly. “We had been to town and when we
+were coming back we decided to take a ride into the hills.
+
+“We saw a man riding alone, but paid no attention to him. As we were
+riding down to our ranch, a shot was fired and my horse fell. I hurt
+my head a little, and before I could get up another shot was fired
+and Sleepy fell off his horse.
+
+“I got him to the house and--” she shook her head wearily-- “My mother
+helped me. She heard the shots, too.”
+
+“But how bad is he hurt?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“I don’t know. The bullet struck him under the left arm and knocked him
+off the horse. He didn’t know anything for a while, but he woke up all
+right.”
+
+“How long ago did this happen?” asked Trainor.
+
+“Oh, I don’t know. It was a while before dark.”
+
+“And he hasn’t had a doctor?” queried Hashknife.
+
+Lorna shook her head.
+
+“My mother is better than a doctor. She knows what to do. He knew I came
+over to tell you, and he said to tell you that he’s all right.”
+
+“And you didn’t see the man that fired the shots?” said the sheriff.
+
+Lorna looked around the circle again and back at the sheriff.
+
+“Yes, I seen him.”
+
+“Yuh did? My gosh! Who was he?”
+
+“I got up, after my horse fell with me. I was dizzy for a minute, but I
+looked back toward the hill and I seen the man riding away. It was the
+same man we saw a while before.”
+
+“But who was he?” urged half-a-dozen voices, as the cattlemen crowded
+around her.
+
+“Give us his name,” demanded the sheriff.
+
+But Lorna shook her head.
+
+“No, not yet.”
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I told Sleepy about it and he said for me to not tell anybody.”
+
+“Well, that’s a ---- of a note!” wailed Lonesome.
+
+Hashknife smiled grimly. He knew that Sleepy, even though badly hurt,
+knew that this information would be for them alone.
+
+“You want to be party to a crime?” queried the sheriff. “If yuh don’t
+tell, yo’re as guilty as the shooter.”
+
+Lorna backed against the door and looked defiantly at him.
+
+“All right, arrest me.”
+
+“Oh ----!”
+
+The sheriff turned appealingly to the men.
+
+“What can yuh do in a case like that?”
+
+Hashknife turned and went out through the kitchen, heading for the barn.
+He saddled and led his horse outside, where he found the cattlemen
+waiting for him. Poco brushed past him, saying that he and Trainor were
+going along.
+
+Lorna was already in the saddle; so he rode in beside her and they led
+the way. There was little conversation. Every man felt that they would
+soon know the name of the man who had been terrorizing the Ghost Hills
+Range, and they also knew that he would never live to be tried by a
+court of law.
+
+Hashknife did not question Lorna, and he felt that these men would have
+their ride in vain. If Sleepy did not want her to tell the name of the
+killer, it was because this information might serve them to uncover the
+whole band.
+
+Near the forks of the road he asked if it might not be well to send one
+man after the doctor at Wolf Wells, but she said:
+
+“My mother good doctor. She knows what to do.”
+
+Hashknife knew that many of the Indians were adept at treating gunshot
+wounds, and a rangeland doctor is not usually a surgeon; so he agreed
+that her idea was probably the best.
+
+It was a silent group of riders that dismounted at the open door of the
+Tomahawk ranch-house and filed inside. Sleepy was stretched out on a cot
+and beside him sat the Indian woman, Mrs. Cassidy.
+
+Sleepy was very white, but he grinned at Hashknife and looked around at
+the crowd.
+
+“Pardner, how do yuh feel?” asked Hashknife softly.
+
+“Fine.” Sleepy’s voice was weak. “They come danged near handin’ me a
+harp, Hashknife.”
+
+“Where did it hit yuh?”
+
+“Kinda under the pit of m’ arm and come out over m’ chest. It sure
+ripped ---- out of me. I must have cast-iron ribs, ’cause she didn’t
+go inside.”
+
+“Then yuh ain’t hurt bad.” There was a note of relief in Hashknife’s
+voice.
+
+“F’r a minute I thought yuh was dead, cowboy.”
+
+“You didn’t have nothin’ on me. I seen seven flocks of angels flyin’
+in a V-shape over me. I says to myself, ‘Sleepy, yo’re goin’ to be a
+migratory bird, instead of a harpist.’”
+
+The sheriff shoved his way to the front and looked down at Sleepy.
+
+“The girl says that yuh know who shot yuh.”
+
+Sleepy squinted up at the sheriff in amazement. He turned his head
+slowly and looked at the ring of faces around him.
+
+“Well, I know that somebody did,” he said softly, “but a feller with his
+face in the dust can’t hardly see behind him and up a hill.”
+
+“But you seen the same feller before today,” persisted the sheriff. “By
+----, we want to know who it was!”
+
+“So do I,” said Sleepy. “I want to be sure.”
+
+“You give us his name and we’ll find out for yuh,” stated old man
+Shappee.
+
+Sleepy shook his head and looked appealingly at Hashknife, who turned to
+the crowd.
+
+“Gents, yuh can’t bother him no more now. He’s been bad hurt, and he
+don’t want to talk.”
+
+The crowd moved back to the doorway and the Indian woman sat down beside
+Sleepy, giving him a drink of something that had a most peculiar odor.
+
+There was no question but what the cattlemen were not in the best of
+humor. They had come a long way after information and had not received
+it.
+
+“I don’t understand why they won’t talk,” said Trainor. “This ain’t a
+thing to keep secret. If the guilty one finds out that they are known,
+they’ll fog out of the country and we’ll never see ’em again.”
+
+“Well,” Lonesome shook his head sadly, “that sure wouldn’t hurt my
+feelin’s, none whatever. They can’t fog too soon nor too far to suit
+old man Hobbs’ little son.”
+
+“---- it!” wailed the sheriff dismally. “What’s the good of havin’ a
+sheriff.”
+
+“I’ve argued the same question many times,” smiled Hashknife, “but yuh
+never can make folks listen to reason. I never seen one yet that was
+good for anythin’, except pitchin’ horseshoes.”
+
+“What I want to know is this.” Jud Carey spat dryly and looked around.
+“When do we git informed as to who the shooter was?”
+
+“Don’t look at me!” snapped the sheriff. “I’ve asked questions until m’
+tonsils are all raw. I don’t see why they’re keepin’ this to themselves,
+danged if I do.”
+
+“I reckon there’s nothin’ to be learned here,” said Shappee wearily,
+“and it’s a long ride back to the old Flyin’ M. I ain’t as young as I
+used to be.”
+
+“Come over and stay with us tonight,” offered Trainor.
+
+“Yeah, and have ma pawin’ holes in the carpet, ’cause I don’t come home.
+She’s scared stiff, jist thinkin’ that I might git shot in the back. I
+told her that at my age it didn’t make a ---- bit of difference whether
+they shot me in the back or the front. I’m much obliged to yuh, just the
+same, Trainor.”
+
+“You’re sure welcome to come,” laughed Trainor, and turned to Hashknife.
+
+“You goin’ back with us, Hartley?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head quickly.
+
+“No, I reckon I’ll stay here tonight. Mebbe I’ll have to go after a
+doctor, but I don’t think so. Anyway, I’ll be over early in the
+mornin’.”
+
+They went back to their horses and rode away down the moonlit highway,
+which wound in and out of the brushy cañons. Hashknife watched them
+until they faded out in the distance, and turned back, closing the door
+behind him.
+
+He crossed the room and drew the blanket curtain across the window
+near the cot. Lorna had sat down near the fireplace, and a moment
+later Jimmy, the half-breed, slipped in the front door and closed it
+quickly.
+
+Jimmy was carrying a shotgun, which he leaned against the wall. The
+squaw spoke to him in the Sioux tongue and he shook his head.
+
+“Lorna go way, Jimmy watch,” volunteered the squaw in explanation.
+
+“See nothin’,” grunted Jimmy, coming closer to the cot and grinning at
+Sleepy.
+
+“You feel good, eh? Minnie ---- good doctor.”
+
+Hashknife walked over and squatted down on his heels beside the cot.
+
+“Yuh want to talk about it, Sleepy?” he asked.
+
+“Ask Lorna.”
+
+Lorna came closer and spoke softly.
+
+“It was Buck Avery.”
+
+“Buck Avery?”
+
+Hashknife squinted thoughtfully. Buck had been drunk for two days. He
+was still drinking that morning, and was dead drunk just before supper.
+
+“I’m sorry, but I reckon yuh made a mistake, Lorna,” he said slowly, and
+told them of Buck’s drinking.
+
+“I told her not to tell anybody, and I’m glad she didn’t,” said Sleepy
+weakly. “It don’t pay to be too quick in a thing like that.”
+
+Lorna shook her head slowly and stared at the blank wall.
+
+“No talk much,” grunted the squaw. “---- good thing.”
+
+“I seen that man,” persisted Lorna, as if visualizing him now. “He
+rode like Buck Avery and he looked like Buck Avery. But this man was
+not drunk.”
+
+“Got me the second shot,” grinned Sleepy. “His first one must ’a’ just
+grazed me and hit Lorna’s horse in the head. No drunken man fired them
+two shots.”
+
+“Which lets Buck out,” declared Hashknife. “He’s been drunk ever since
+I went to the Circle Cross. But this sure puts us in one fine fix. The
+guilty party will think that we know ’em, and they’ll either pull out
+of the country or try harder to wipe us out.”
+
+“Don’t worry sick man,” advised the squaw. “Go to bed.”
+
+“That’s good advice,” admitted Hashknife, and to Sleepy--
+
+“If that bullet tore yuh up bad, suppose I go after a doctor and have
+him sew yuh up.”
+
+“I fixum,” grunted the squaw. “No need doctor.”
+
+“That’s a cinch,” grinned Sleepy. “Mother fixed me up fine. I couldn’t
+be sewed tighter if they used a sewing-machine on me. Don’tcha bother
+about me, Hashknife; you keep yore own skin together.”
+
+Hashknife accepted a blanket from Lorna, kicked off his boots and
+rolled up in a corner. He was dog-tired, but his mind refused to rest.
+He wondered who rode and looked like Buck Avery.
+
+Mentally he compared every Ghost Hills cowpuncher that he knew, but none
+of them looked like Buck. Still, at a distance, there was a similarity
+between Buck and Honey Simpson, the silent puncher from the 66. Even
+Bility Edwards might be mistaken for Buck.
+
+But his mind always jerked back to Buck Avery, snoring on the bunk,
+with the empty bottle beside him and the bunk-house smelling strongly
+of liquor. Buck was drunk the night that Jimmy, the half-breed, had
+been shot, and Buck had gone to the Flying M ranch at the time that
+Quong had nearly been hit.
+
+The Flying M was west of the Circle Cross, while the shots had been
+fired from the east. Buck had been to Wolf Wells that day, and had
+also carried the message to the Flying M for Trainor.
+
+And last, but not least, there was not a .30-30 rifle on the Circle
+Cross. The bullet that wrecked Quong’s kettle was a .30-30. Hashknife
+had seen Smoky Cole’s wound, but it was hard to tell what kind of a
+bullet had killed him. He wished now that he had examined it more
+closely.
+
+He resolved to examine the dead horse in the morning and see if he could
+find the bullet. Lorna was sitting by the fireplace, her chin cupped in
+her hands and Hashknife studied her profile.
+
+Just beyond her, and to the right, sat her mother, a short, squat,
+typical Indian woman. He thought of Pinto Cassidy, with his wizened,
+wrinkled, Irish countenance, and wondered what freak of nature had
+given these two an offspring like Lorna. She was as unlike either of
+them as a child could be.
+
+And then he went to sleep to dream of miles of mesquite clumps with a
+bushwhacker behind each one, and him with a .45-70 rifle and nothing
+to shoot in it, except .30-30 caliber cartridges.
+
+Just after midnight a severe thunderstorm swept the Ghost Hills, and
+the downpour of rain thudded hollowly on the roof of the Tomahawk
+ranch-house; but Hashknife slept the sleep of the just, in spite of
+it all.
+
+It was barely past daylight when Hashknife awoke and rolled out of his
+blanket. The old squaw was already preparing breakfast and Sleepy was
+snoring soundly. Jimmy, the half-breed, put in a yawning appearance,
+and peered cautiously out of a window.
+
+“Whatcha see?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“I just look,” replied Jimmy.
+
+“Uh-huh.”
+
+Hashknife rolled a cigaret and turned to the squaw.
+
+“Mother, how’s the patient gettin’ along?”
+
+She smiled widely and nodded toward the cot.
+
+“He get well now--pretty quick.”
+
+“He sure didn’t git hit in his snorer,” grinned Hashknife, and nodded to
+Lorna who had just come in.
+
+She walked over, looked at Sleepy, who awoke and grinned up at her.
+
+“How are yuh feelin’, cowboy?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Finer ’n frawg-hair. Gimme a cigaret.”
+
+They sat down and discussed the happenings of the evening before, but
+Lorna still persisted that the man looked exactly like Buck Avery.
+
+“But,” argued Hashknife, “Buck has been drunk for several days. He was
+drunk when we found him yesterday.”
+
+“Lorna know Buck pretty good,” said Jimmy.
+
+“All right,” grinned Hashknife. “If it was Buck, he’s headin’ out of
+this country right now. He’d hear that Lorna seen him, and he’d sure
+fade away fast. But where would Buck fit into the scheme of things?”
+
+No one seemed to have an answer for that question. They ate breakfast
+and Hashknife announced his intentions of going back to the Circle Cross
+ranch.
+
+“No ---- good,” declared Jimmy.
+
+“Yuh think they’d bushwhack me, Jimmy?”
+
+“Think plenty now,” advised Jimmy.
+
+Hashknife grinned and puffed on his cigaret.
+
+“Mebbe yo’re right, Jimmy,” he finally agreed. “They’d hate to have
+me pack information back with me, I reckon. None of ’em know the name
+that Lorna had in mind, but they’d know danged well that I’d have it
+now. Mebbe we better try somethin’ easy at first.”
+
+Hashknife selected an old pair of overalls, an old shirt and a pair of
+boots. Three blankets sufficed for the stuffing of them. He tied a rope
+around the dummy under the arms and left a length of rope extending from
+each side. Then he surmounted the thing with his own hat, fitting it to
+the roll of blanket which extended up through the neck of the shirt.
+
+“Grab hold of a rope, Jimmy,” he ordered, and the half-breed obeyed with
+a grin.
+
+“Looks more like me than I do,” laughed Hashknife as he dragged the
+dummy over to the door.
+
+“Now, Jimmy, you stand on one side and hold yore rope high and tight
+enough to make the darned things stand up like a man. Don’t expose
+yourself, young feller. All set?”
+
+Jimmy nodded and drew the rope tight. Hashknife looked back in the room
+to see that nothing was in line. Then he shoved the door wide open. The
+dummy looked like a cowboy. Perhaps it was a trifle limp-looking at
+close range.
+
+It stood there for perhaps five seconds motionless. Then it jerked
+convulsively and fell sidewise. From the rear of the room came the
+splat of a bullet striking wood, and from the hills came the thin pop
+of a high-power cartridge.
+
+Hashknife reached out and drew the door shut. Jimmy stood there,
+looking foolishly at a piece of rope in his hand, which had been
+cleanly severed. It was a rope made from Maguey fiber, about the size
+of a clothes-line, but very hard and brittle.
+
+“Well,” said Hashknife, shoving the dummy aside, “I’ll say that it
+worked to the queen’s taste.”
+
+The two women were staring wonderingly at him, but Sleepy was laughing
+joyously. Jimmy crossed the room and poked his finger at the spot where
+the bullet had bored into the seasoned wall.
+
+“We’re sure hived up for keeps,” said Sleepy, as if rather pleased at
+the prospect. Sleepy loved a fight, and nothing pleased him more than
+to give odds.
+
+“You ain’t in it, you doggone cripple,” reminded Hashknife. “Yuh don’t
+need to start cheerin’ about it.”
+
+Jimmy had moved the curtain an inch and was staring out through the
+window.
+
+“See anythin’?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Nothin’. They think you dead--mebbe.”
+
+“Very likely. But they won’t stop at one killin’. They will naturally
+think that we all know the guilty man, and they’ll try to stop all of
+us. You got a rifle, Jimmy?”
+
+“You ---- right!”
+
+Jimmy went into another room and came back with an old .50-90 Sharps,
+which he handled lovingly before giving it to Hashknife.
+
+“That good gun, you bet.”
+
+Hashknife grinned and examined it. He knew the killing power of the old
+Sharps, even though they did not compare with the high-power rifle. He
+accepted a handful of cartridges from the half-breed.
+
+“Whatcha goin’ to do?” queried Sleepy anxiously.
+
+“I’m goin’ into the hills,” grinned Hashknife. “I’m goin’ to have a
+perfectly good little fight, and yo’re goin’ to lay here in yore nice
+little beddie and wish you was along; _sabe?_”
+
+“Aw ----! You’ll go out there and get yore danged hide all filled up
+with soft-nose bullets that’s what you’ll do. Ain’tcha got no sense,
+Hashknife?”
+
+“Sour grapes,” retorted Hashknife, and to Jimmy--
+
+“Gimme more shells.”
+
+Jimmy gave him several more, which Hashknife pocketed. He rescued his
+hat from the dummy and drew it tightly on his head.
+
+“Now, you folks just set tight, will yuh? I’ve got to teach them
+bushwhackers that they ain’t got the only rifle in the Ghost Hills.
+_Adios._ That means good-by in Spanish.”
+
+“Thirty-thirty,” retorted Sleepy. “That means good-by in any darned
+language.”
+
+Hashknife went to the rear of the house, opened a window as wide as
+possible, stood up on a chair and fairly dived outside. He landed on
+his feet, ducked low and ran swiftly toward the upper corral, running
+in a zigzag angle to confuse any one who might be trying to use him
+for a target.
+
+He had almost reached the angle of the corral fence when--
+
+_Whim-m-m-m!_
+
+A bullet tore up the ground almost under his feet and _zee-e-e-e’d_
+its way up the slope of the hills. It was too close for comfort, and
+Hashknife was thankful for the protection of a patch of brush behind
+the corral fence.
+
+“Good shootin’,” he panted aloud, as he crawled like a snake fifty feet
+from where he had dropped behind the brush.
+
+The shooter was evidently unable to determine just where Hashknife had
+gone; so he tore a few splinters off the pole-corral, just taking a
+chance on scoring a hit.
+
+Hashknife worked his way the length of the corral and into a bunch of
+brush on the side of the hill, where he snuggled into a depression
+and prayed for a chance to do a little shooting. He studied the hills
+beyond the ranch-house, but could see nothing.
+
+He knew that the man had not seen him take cover on the hill, because
+no more shots had been fired. He had watched closely for about five
+minutes, when his vigilance was rewarded.
+
+Something moved in a jumble of brush and rocks, but the distance was a
+good four hundred yards. It moved again, and this time Hashknife could
+see that it was a man.
+
+He appeared to be moving very slowly, and was evidently trying to work
+his way higher in order to get a better view beyond the corral fence.
+
+Hashknife estimated the distance and set his sights. It was a long shot
+and a small target, as the man did not expose much of his anatomy at a
+time.
+
+The old gun kicked viciously and emitted a cloud of smoke; while its
+report clattered like artillery, as it echoed from the surrounding
+hills.
+
+Hashknife ducked low under the smoke and saw the bullet strike. It threw
+up a cloud of dust about a foot below where the target had been.
+
+“Next time, brother,” promised Hashknife, as he shoved in another
+cartridge.
+
+But the next moment a bullet splattered into the bank behind him,
+causing him to hug the ground tightly. Another struck to his left,
+another to his right. The man was trying to find out his location.
+
+Another bullet ricocheted off a rock behind him, while the next one
+threw sand in his face.
+
+Hashknife snorted loudly, kicked himself loose from that location and
+rolled back down the hill, where he scuttled up the draw a little and
+got behind a big rock.
+
+“That danged old smoke-wagon sure advertised my location,” he panted
+aloud. “Anyway, I scared him so that he wasn’t exactly sure just where
+I was.”
+
+He stayed flat on the ground and recovered his breath, while an
+occasional bullet searched along the corral fence, but did no damage.
+He knew that the man had not seen him take cover so he felt reasonably
+safe.
+
+But inaction soon palled upon him and he looked around for a good place
+to try for again. Just to the left of the corral was a jumble of broken
+rock and a clump of greasewood, which would make a fine breastworks. It
+was about a hundred feet away, but Hashknife took the chance and ran for
+it. He fell in behind the greasewood, without a shot being fired.
+
+“That’s danged funny,” he told himself. “What’s happened to m’ friend
+with the .30-30?”
+
+There was no question but what the man could have seen him make the run.
+He studied the spot where the man had been, but there was nothing there
+as far as he could see.
+
+“Gotta make him start somethin’,” he told a lone magpie, which had
+stopped on a tall post and was chattering angrily over something.
+
+Hashknife drew his feet under him, gripped the rifle tightly and ran for
+the corner of the barn like a rabbit hunting a hole. But there was no
+response from the man on the hill. He crawled in through a broken window
+and secured a saddle-blanket, which he hung on a pitchfork and tried to
+draw a shot by extending it slightly past the corner of the barn.
+
+Then he walked deliberately into the open and headed for the house. But
+no shots were fired at him.
+
+“Somethin’ chased him away, I reckon,” he decided, as he went back into
+the house.
+
+Lorna and Jimmy met him at the door while Sleepy yelled weakly for
+details of the slaughter.
+
+“I shot at him once and scared him away,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+“Don’t lie to a cripple,” wailed Sleepy.
+
+“Well, he just quit shootin’ then,” grinned Hashknife. “Somethin’ scared
+him away, and I’m going to see if I can find out what it was. I’ll be
+back this evenin’.”
+
+“I’m goin’ to get up tomorrow,” declared Sleepy hopefully, looking at
+the old squaw.
+
+“I ain’t sick, am I, mother?”
+
+“You pretty good. Get up bimeby.”
+
+“Yuh betcha. I can ride and shoot as good as ever and I’m danged if I’m
+goin’ to let you have all the fun.”
+
+Hashknife laughed teasingly.
+
+“Sleepy, I sure had fun. That son-of-a-gun seen the smoke from this
+old rifle and he sure salivated everythin’ in range. _Powee-e-e!_
+Bullets everywhere, and me down in a little swale, with m’ stummick
+wrapped around my vertebray. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”
+
+Sleepy swore softly at anybody lucky enough to have fun like that, and
+Hashknife went swiftly down to the barn and saddled his horse. Jimmy,
+the half-breed, had put up the horse the night before. Hashknife still
+kept the Sharps rifle, and rode away with it across the fork of his
+saddle.
+
+He pointed straight into the hills to the spot where the man had been
+hiding. The downpour of rain the night before had softened the ground
+a little, and Hashknife was able to find where the man’s heels had dug
+into the dirt.
+
+He trailed the man to the top of the hogback, but there he was forced
+to give up the scent. Greasewood and tall sage grew in profusion on
+this hog-back, and the man had evidently taken advantage of it, as the
+last tracks that Hashknife had found were pointing up the slope.
+
+He mounted again and followed the ridge, watching closely. He rode
+around the heads of several brushy coulees and was about to head back
+toward the road, when he spied a rider crossing the coulee below him.
+Hashknife dropped off his horse and watched closely. The rider went
+slowly up the side of the hill, going cautiously and scanning the
+country carefully.
+
+“Poco Saunders,” muttered Hashknife, as he adjusted his sights
+carefully. “Poco, yo’re coyote bait right now.”
+
+But something in Poco’s actions caused him to hold his fire. He was
+leaning down from his saddle, as if searching for something on the
+ground. He rode ahead a short distance and from his actions it seemed
+that he was following a trail.
+
+Hashknife squatted low in the brush and watched him reach the ridge and
+disappear over the other side.
+
+“Now that’s a queer actin’ jasper,” Hashknife told his horse. “Mebbe we
+better see what’s ailin’ him.”
+
+He circled the head of the coulee and picked up Poco’s horse-tracks. He
+waited a while and finally he saw Poco far down the next coulee, heading
+along the side of it, still looking down.
+
+Hashknife looked closely down at the horse-tracks and discovered that
+two horses had passed that way.
+
+“Poco’s trailin’ somebody, and I’m trailin’ him,” he laughed. “Kinda
+like button, button, who’s got the button.”
+
+He gave Poco plenty of time to get out of sight before he took up the
+trail again, which kept bearing toward the road. Finally he reached the
+top of the hill, where he could look down at the road, but the trail did
+not lead directly down.
+
+He could see where Poco had started down, lost the trail and had come
+back to the top again. The trail led along the top for possibly an
+eighth of a mile, as if the rider had been looking over the country
+below, and headed down a heavily wooded coulee, which opened into a
+little swale down near the road.
+
+At the lower end of the open swale was a clump of old cottonwoods, and
+it was near these that the trail practically ended. Here were the marks
+of footprints, as if the horse had stood there several minutes.
+
+“Heard somebody comin’ along the road,” decided Hashknife, as he went
+on down to the road, where all the footprints jumbled into those of the
+regular country traffic.
+
+Hashknife noted that he had struck the road just below where the road
+forked to the Circle Cross ranch; so he swung to the east and rode
+slowly through the hills to the ranch.
+
+He wondered what Poco was doing in the hills and who he was trailing.
+
+“Was Poco doin’ the shootin’?” he wondered. “Did somebody scare him
+and was he trailin’ this other party to see what they were up to? Or
+did Poco happen in, hear the shots and start trailin’ the shooter?”
+
+As far as he could see, Poco carried no rifle; but at that distance it
+would not be possible to see whether there might be one in a scabbard
+on the saddle.
+
+“Anyway,” he decided as he rode in at the ranch, “the shooter got scared
+and pulled out. They may be goshawful bad, but they can be scared,
+that’s a cinch.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+He put up his horse and went up to the house, where he found Buck Avery
+eating breakfast. Buck looked unkempt and appeared to be still shaky
+from drink.
+
+“’Lo, Hartley,” he grunted, helping himself to more black coffee. “They
+tell me yore friend got shot yesterday. How’s he gittin’ along?”
+
+“Fine, Buck. Didn’t hurt him much, and he’ll be out right away.”
+
+“Tha’s good,” mumbled Buck. “Had yore breakfast?”
+
+“Yeah, long time ago.”
+
+“Time f’r another. Hey! Quong! Fry the gent some aigs.”
+
+“Yessah, lite away.”
+
+Hashknife did not object. He was always in the mood for ham and eggs,
+and it had been two hours or more since he had eaten.
+
+“Where’s Trainor?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Gone t’ town with Lanpher. Poco went over to the Tomahawk t’ see how
+yore friend is. Didn’t yuh meet him?”
+
+Hashknife shook his head and attacked his eggs.
+
+“No. I came across the hills.”
+
+“Uh-huh.”
+
+Buck gulped his coffee and began rolling a cigaret.
+
+“I’m off the hooch,” he declared. “I’ve seen a whole danged
+mee-nag-i-ree pee-radin’ around here the last two days. Caught me two
+vi’let colored elephants las’ evenin’, but they gnawed their way out
+of the corral.”
+
+He got up rather unsteadily and headed for the bunk-house. Hashknife
+laid aside his knife and fork. Something caused him to distrust Buck,
+although he could not see how Buck could have done all the deviltry.
+He sauntered out and went down to the barn, where he examined Buck’s
+horse, but there was nothing to show that the animal had been ridden
+that day. It was true that Buck could have removed all traces of
+travel; but the animal’s spirits did not fit in with a fifteen-mile
+trip.
+
+“If he rode yuh today, he didn’t ride yuh far,” declared Hashknife,
+and went outside where he sat down on an old lumber-pile and grew
+comfortable over his cigaret.
+
+Mrs. Lanpher came out on the porch of the ranch-house and Hashknife
+mentally compared her and her daughter to Mrs. Cassidy, the squaw, and
+Lorna.
+
+“Too much money and too much convention,” decided Hashknife. “They ain’t
+a danged bit natural. Still, they’re mothers, just the same--and this
+one’s got a boy in jail.”
+
+He sauntered up to the porch and was surprized to receive a cordial
+“good-morning” from Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“Sure is a nice mornin’, ma’am,” admitted Hashknife, sitting down on the
+steps. “How’s all yore folks?”
+
+“Mr. Lanpher has gone to town with Mr. Trainor and Helen has a slight
+headache,” she replied.
+
+“What is the latest news from your friend who was hurt last night?”
+
+“Thank yuh kindly, ma’am; he’s doin’ fine. He got kinda ripped up a
+little, thasall.”
+
+“I am very glad to hear he is doing so well. I asked my husband to
+explain some of these things to me last night, and what he told me
+was surprizing, to say the least. Why, the whole country must be in
+a turmoil. And nobody knows who is doing it all.”
+
+“No, ma’am, they sure don’t. Yore husband and Trainor are doin’
+everythin’ they can, I reckon.”
+
+She nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
+
+“I know little about these things, but it seems that the loss in stock
+has been tremendous. But--” she stared across the gray hills and her
+lips twitched slightly-- “I--I would not mind it--the money part of
+it--if my boy was back with us again.”
+
+“Yes’m, that part of it is kinda hard,” agreed Hashknife. “I’d sure like
+to help him, ma’am. But you’ve sure got to take him away from the range
+country, when he gets loose.
+
+“Yore boy is all right, ma’am; he’s fine, inside. But he got a lot of
+queer notions, don’tcha know it? Somebody told him that he was a good
+shot, and he immediate and soon proclaims himself a gunman and goes
+seekin’ a victim.
+
+“He got to likin’ whisky, too. It’s bad for kids, ma’am. Ben’s all
+right, and I don’t want yuh to think that I’m paintin’ him worse than
+I ought to. Yessir, he’s all right.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Hartley,” she said softly. “I feel that you know my boy
+well enough to express an opinion. We have been lax with him, I know.
+Mr. Lanpher was not at all discreet in the matter of his--er--feelings
+toward the half-breed girl. Of course it was absurd for Ben to think of
+such an alliance, but it might have been handled differently.”
+
+“Well,” Hashknife settled himself and began rolling a cigaret
+carefully. “Well, ma’am, there’s a lot worse things could happen to
+Ben. Half-breeds don’t make bad wives. I ’member that old Jake Dickson
+married one over in the Button Willer country, and she stood for old
+Jake two years before she killed him in a friendly fight.
+
+“And there was old ‘Shep’ Hardy, over in the Skiwaumpus country. He
+married a breed girl. Everybody said that no human could get along with
+old Shep for thirty days; but she was ca’m and patient with him--which
+no white woman would have been--and he annoyed her for darned near a
+year before she stole the ladder out of his prospect shaft and left him
+there, while she run away with a sheepherder. I tell yuh, they’re fine
+wives, if yuh give ’em a chance, ma’am.”
+
+“Horrors!” Mrs. Lanpher shuddered visibly.
+
+“Of course,” amended Hashknife, “he ain’t got her yet, and he may not be
+lucky enough to get her; but she’s a fine girl.”
+
+“But to think of Benjamin Lanpher marrying an Indian! Why, it would
+never do at all, don’t you see.”
+
+“She sure’s got ancestors,” grinned Hashknife. “I heard a feller
+braggin’ once about his ancestors comin’ over in the Mayflower. Called
+his family old-timers. He sure paraded his great-grandpas, until a
+dark-complected gent spoke up and said that his folks was pretty good
+sort of folks, until that darned boat showed up.
+
+“Come to find out, the dark-complected gent had a lot of Delaware
+Injun blood in him, and he proved to this Mayflower gent that his
+Injun ancestors were free as birds years before the Mayflower gent’s
+ancestors quit bein’ branded by their owners.”
+
+“I--I suppose that is true,” agreed Mrs. Lanpher, “but that does not
+lessen the fact that we do not want Ben to marry this girl.”
+
+“All right,” said Hashknife. “Neither do I, ma’am. Talkin’ seriously; I
+don’t like marriages of that kind. I’ve got a lot of respect for Injun
+blood, when it ain’t been tainted. Mixin’ Injun and white blood brings
+out the vices of both and the virtues of neither.
+
+“Lorna is a doggoned sweet little girl--too sweet for yore son--the
+way he’s been actin’. And I’m whisperin’ my objections to this here
+marriage as much for her sake as for Ben. She’s got just as much
+right to be happy as he has, don’t cha see? I reckon we all dislike
+to see ’em get married. Even Trainor don’t like it.”
+
+“That is one of the reasons that Ben refused to stay here on this
+ranch,” explained Mrs. Lanpher. “Mr. Trainor knew what Ben was doing,
+so he wrote to us about it. Ben resented it greatly and left the
+ranch.”
+
+“That was too bad,” agreed Hashknife heartily.
+
+“You’ve known Trainor a long time, ain’t yuh, ma’am?”
+
+“Mr. Lanpher has.”
+
+“Ma’am, I am goin’ to ask yuh a personal question, if yuh don’t mind.”
+
+Mrs. Lanpher looked curiously at him.
+
+“A personal question?”
+
+“Yes’m: I was goin’ to ask yuh if yore daughter is goin’ to marry
+Trainor?”
+
+Mrs. Lanpher’s lips shut tightly, but she smiled a trifle as she shook
+her head.
+
+“No, I do not think so. Why do you ask that question?”
+
+“Just kinda curious, thasall.”
+
+“No.” Mrs. Lanpher shook her head and sighed deeply. “A year ago Helen
+was not of age, and Mr. Trainor wanted her to marry him. I refused,
+because I did not think that she knew her own mind in the matter. And
+more than that, Mr. Trainor is twice her age.
+
+“No doubt Mr. Trainor would make a good husband; but with her advantages
+I think she could do much better. I explained it fully to Mr. Trainor
+and he was gentleman enough to--well, not exactly agree with me--but to
+drop the matter.”
+
+“What did Mr. Lanpher think of it?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“Well, he was not at all diplomatic. He said it was absurd--and I think
+he told Mr. Trainor just that.”
+
+Hashknife rubbed out his cigaret against the step and got to his feet.
+Poco Saunders was riding in through the main gate, heading for the barn.
+Hashknife turned to Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“Ma’am, I didn’t mean to pry into yore family affairs, and I ask yore
+pardon. I’ll sure do all I can to open the jail for yore boy.”
+
+“Thank you so much,” she replied. “It was good to just have some one to
+talk to, and those family affairs are no secret.”
+
+Hashknife lifted his hat and went to the barn where Poco was unsaddling.
+He looked at Hashknife curiously, but said nothing as he hung up his
+saddle and came back to the door.
+
+“I been out to the Tomahawk,” volunteered Poco.
+
+“Yeah, I seen yuh,” replied Hashknife easily.
+
+“Yuh did?” Poco squinted reflectively, thoughtfully.
+
+“Yuh did?” He repeated the question. “Where?”
+
+“Back in the hills,” Hashknife was watching Poco closely, but he was
+relaxed, as he leaned against the door.
+
+“Back in the hills, eh?” Softly.
+
+“Uh-huh,” Hashknife took a deep breath and hooked his thumbs over his
+belt.
+
+“Poco Saunders, we’re goin’ to trade talk this time.”
+
+Poco looked up quickly, but there was no anger, no defiance in his dark
+eyes.
+
+“We’re goin’ to trade talk,” said Hashknife, “and yo’re goin’ to talk
+first, Poco.”
+
+Poco nodded slowly and a bitter smile flashed across his thin lips, as
+he said--
+
+“Where do I begin, Hartley?”
+
+“Start in with this mornin’, Poco.”
+
+“We got up early this mornin’, Hartley. After breakfast, me and Lanpher
+and Trainor started for town. Trainor’s got an idea of follerin’ the
+sheriff’s idea of makin’ up a big posse. We got almost to town and they
+got to talkin’ about Stevens gettin’ shot. Kinda wonderin’ how he is,
+yuh know, and they decided that I’m to ride back to the Tomahawk ranch
+and see how things are goin’.
+
+“I’m to tell you that they’re goin’ to make up this big posse, and then
+I might as well go back to the ranch. Lanpher gets to kinda worryin’
+about the women bein’ alone, and all that. I rides back and I’m almost
+to the ----”
+
+“What time did yuh leave the ranch?” interrupted Hashknife.
+
+“I dunno. It wasn’t much after daylight. Why?”
+
+“Go ahead.”
+
+“Like I just said, I’m almost to the Tomahawk, when I hears a shot. I
+stops and considers things. Mebbe I’m there five or ten minutes, when
+there’s more shootin’. I mosey on up the road, and I’m almost to the
+ranch, when I see the shooter. He’s quite a ways from me, but I think
+he seen me at the same time. Anyway, he ducks real rapid.
+
+“I take things kinder easy, and foller him. That rain made the ground
+kinda soft and I’m able to trail him, but it only winds through the
+hills and comes back to the road. Then I go back to the Tomahawk and
+find you gone. Anythin’ else?”
+
+“Only to say that you told the truth, Poco. Do you want to ask me any
+questions?”
+
+Poco considered deeply for a while, and then--
+
+“Who are you, Hartley?”
+
+“Cowpuncher,” grinned Hashknife. “Just a puncher.”
+
+“Uh-huh. Why is somebody tryin’ to kill you?”
+
+Hashknife scratched his head thoughtfully.
+
+“Poco, I can’t tell yuh, because I ain’t sure. Yuh see, they ain’t never
+told me why. Mebbe I’ve got my own ideas on the subject, but a feller is
+liable to figure things a little wrong.”
+
+Poco nodded thoughtfully, his eyes squinted. Hashknife studied him for a
+moment and then--
+
+“Poco, I forgot to ask yuh one question.”
+
+“Thasso? What is it?” Poco did not look up.
+
+“You asked me who I am--who are you?”
+
+“Me?” Poco’s thin lips fluttered in a bitter laugh. “I’m a ---- fool, I
+reckon.”
+
+Hashknife laughed and slapped him on the back.
+
+“Poco, we all are, but we’re just as happy as though we had good sense.
+I hate to pry into anybody’s private affairs, but I’d sure like to know
+why Smoky held out to try and convict old Pinto Cassidy.”
+
+“Don’t you think he’s guilty?” queried Poco.
+
+“No--do you?”
+
+“I did,” said Poco shortly, and after a few moments of reflection--
+
+“He threatened to kill any Circle Cross puncher that trespassed on the
+Tomahawk.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I told yuh once that I didn’t know why, Hartley. But I think it was on
+account of the half-breed girl.”
+
+Poco turned away and headed for the bunk-house, while Hashknife sat
+down beside the barn in the shade, and watched Poco go jerkily along
+on his high-heeled boots.
+
+“You’ve got an ax to grind, but I don’t think yuh know where to find the
+grindstone,” observed Hashknife to himself. “I’d rather have yuh on my
+side than against me, ’cause you come nearer bein’ a cold-blooded gunman
+than anybody I’ve seen for quite a while.”
+
+Hashknife had never seen Poco Saunders in trouble, but he felt
+instinctively that Poco would be swift with a gun. Every motion
+betokened the gunman; cool, calculating, sober and unemotional.
+
+Hashknife felt sure that Poco had been greatly affected by the murder
+of Smoky Cole, his bunkie. There was no doubt that Poco did not know
+who had killed Smoky, but that Poco was trying hard to find out.
+
+Poco had used the past tense in speaking of his opinion of Cassidy’s
+guilt, and Hashknife wondered whether the recent bushwhacking had
+convinced Poco that both Cassidy and Ben Lanpher were innocent.
+
+“Well, we’re earnin’ that Lanpher money, that’s a cinch,” observed
+Hashknife. “This kind of a job needs armor more than it does brains.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+He got to his feet as Trainor, Lanpher and a third man rode in through
+the big gate, and waited for them to come to the barn. It was not
+until this third man dismounted that Hashknife recognized him as being
+Carsten, the cattle-buyer, whom he and Sleepy had met at Lanpher’s
+house in San Francisco.
+
+Both Trainor and Lanpher spoke to Hashknife, but Carsten did not even
+look at him.
+
+“Hartley, will yuh take care of the horses?” asked Trainor, handing
+Hashknife his reins.
+
+Hashknife nodded and collected the three sets of reins.
+
+“We’ll go up to the house,” said Trainor, and he and Carsten started
+away.
+
+Lanpher stooped to take off his spurs and when he stood up, the other
+two were half-way to the house.
+
+“I got Carsten aside and told him not to recognize you,” explained
+Lanpher hurriedly. “I didn’t want even Trainor to know that Carsten
+met you.”
+
+“That’s the stuff,” grinned Hashknife, but added, “Even if everybody
+else seems to know what we’re tryin’ to do here.”
+
+“It must be only the guilty ones, though,” protested Lanpher quickly.
+“We had a talk with the sheriff and he plans a big sweep of the whole
+country very soon. How is Stevens?”
+
+“He’s doin’ fine. That squaw sure beats the doctors.”
+
+Lanpher frowned slightly, but a glad smile chased it away immediately,
+as he said:
+
+“Hartley, my boy gets his trial day after tomorrow. We were notified
+of it today. Mitchell, the San Francisco lawyer, will defend him. He
+gets his trial even ahead of Cassidy’s second one.
+
+“Mitchell is optimistic, but admits that the evidence is greatly
+against us. In fact--” Lanpher’s eyes were wistful and his voice broke
+slightly-- “In fact, we haven’t any evidence in our favor, except Ben’s
+unsupported word. He--he had been rather wild, I am told, and that will
+all be against him; but my boy did not commit murder, Hartley.”
+
+Hashknife shook his head in agreement and turned to the barn door with
+the horses.
+
+“No, I don’t reckon he did. Ben was just a plumb ---- fool, thasall.
+He’s got a hard, hard fight ahead of him, Lanpher, and some of them
+recent wild oats are goin’ to make all of yuh sick of the lad’s
+sowin’. But you stick with him.
+
+“That prosecutin’ attorney is sure goin’ to hang a red fringe around
+the kid, y’betcha. He’ll make you think you raised a locoed bobcat
+instead of a boy; but don’t mind him. He’s paid to say nasty things
+about folks.”
+
+Lanpher nodded slowly, as he held out his hand to Hashknife.
+
+“Hartley, I appreciate what you’ve said.”
+
+They shook hands solemnly and Lanpher went to the house, where Mrs.
+Lanpher and Helen were talking to Carsten and Trainor. Hashknife stabled
+the horses and went to the bunk-house, where he found Buck half-asleep
+on a bunk and Poco playing his interminable game of solitaire.
+
+Hashknife told them that Lanpher and Trainor had returned, and mentioned
+the stranger, who limped slightly with his right leg.
+
+“Kinda thin-faced?” asked Poco indifferently. “Little gray in his hair?”
+
+“Uh-huh.”
+
+Buck cleared his throat huskily.
+
+“Must be Carsten, Poco;” and to Hashknife:
+
+“He’s a cattle-buyer. Works for some Eastern outfit.”
+
+“Sets on a horse like a puncher,” observed Hashknife.
+
+Buck laughed.
+
+“Oh, I reckon, Carsten ain’t no tenderfoot. Feller’s kinda got to _sabe_
+horses and cows, if he’s goin’ to mix with cattle-folks and buy their
+stock.”
+
+“Yeah, that’s true,” admitted Hashknife.
+
+He sauntered outside and saddled his horse. Inaction palled upon him so
+he rode up past the ranch-house and told Trainor that he was going back
+to the Tomahawk. Trainor came down from the porch.
+
+“Lanpher just told me that Stevens is gettin’ along fine,” he said.
+“We’re glad to hear it. We talked with the sheriff today, and in a
+short time we are going to comb these hills so thoroughly that even
+a gopher will have to dig deep to keep out of our way.
+
+“You go right ahead over to the Tomahawk and stay as long as yuh want
+to. Mr. Carsten, a cattle-buyer, will be here for a few days, and I
+will likely be busy with him. Ben Lanpher’s trial comes up Wednesday;
+so his father will likely be busy with the lawyer. Poco and Buck can
+take care of everything.”
+
+He glanced down toward the bunk-house, and added--
+
+“If Buck will try and stay sober.”
+
+“I reckon he’s sick of liquor,” grinned Hashknife.
+
+“By ----, I hope so! He ain’t got no judgment. Well, so-long, and good
+luck.”
+
+Trainor had been drinking a little--just enough to put him in rare good
+humor, and Hashknife wondered if he brought some liquor out to Buck.
+
+Hashknife turned at the forks of the road and headed for Wolf Wells.
+He wanted to get away from the two ranches and mix with people. He
+felt that there was nothing to be learned from the people at either
+the Circle Cross or the Tomahawk; so why bother with them?
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Lily of the Valley saloon, Hashknife found Lonesome Hobbs and
+Bility Edwards. Lonesome’s fat face was as placid as a mountain pool
+and his eyes were round and solemn. Bility was also very solemn of
+demeanor.
+
+They both nodded to Hashknife, who invited them to partake of his
+hospitality. It was then that Hashknife discovered that Lonesome and
+Bility were gloriously, shamelessly drunk. Lonesome nearly fell down
+in merely turning around to the bar.
+
+He looked at Hashknife, wide-eyed and said--
+
+“Gotta roo--roosh-ter?”
+
+“Got a rooster?”
+
+“Yesh,” nodded Bility, “Need one--bad.”
+
+“What for?” Hashknife grinned at their earnestness.
+
+“Fight,” explained Lonesome, trying to make the glass and bottle meet.
+
+The bartender rescued them both, when Lonesome dropped them disgustedly.
+
+“Whitey’s got roosh’er,” said Lonesome. “Pre’y good one, too, y’betcha.
+Fight’n rooshter. Yesshir, he’s gone af’er it.”
+
+“Who’s Whitey?” asked Hashknife.
+
+“He owns the depot,” said Bility with great deliberation.
+
+Came the sound of unsteady footsteps, and Whitey Anderson bumped his
+way in through the front door. Anderson was in the same condition as
+Lonesome and Bility, and in his two hands he carried a
+bedraggled-looking rooster.
+
+“C’mon with your fight’n animals,” croaked Whitey. “Bring ’m big and
+bring ’m strong. H’rah, f’r my he-hen!”
+
+“Misser Andershon,” said Lonesome gravely, “shake han’s with my ol’
+friend Hartley. Very ol’ friend, ’ndeed.”
+
+“How doo-o-o,” drawled Whitey, and let loose of his rooster to shake
+hands with Hashknife.
+
+The frightened bird flipped to the top of the bar, volplaned across to
+the top of a pool-table and scooted out the back door, cackling wildly.
+Lonesome made a grab at it, but missed and fell flat on his face, while
+Bility stumbled across him and almost knocked the bar loose from its
+moorings.
+
+But Whitey paid no attention to any one, except Hashknife.
+
+“Yesshir, I’m glad t’ meet ol’ friend of Loneshome Hobbs. Whatcha shay
+your----”
+
+He looked around and discovered Lonesome trying to get back to his feet.
+
+“Shay, Loneshome, what shay friend’s name? My gosh, you ain’t got
+ap’plexy, have yuh? Face’s all red.”
+
+“Who shoved me?” wailed Lonesome, feeling of his nose, which was
+bleeding slightly. “Who done it, I deman’ t’ know immed’ly.”
+
+“You fellers go outside to do your bumpin’!” advised the barkeep
+angrily. “This ain’t no ---- corral.”
+
+“Where’s m’ rooshter?” demanded Whitey hotly, looking around. “Who’s got
+’m? Loneshome have you got ’m?”
+
+“Nug oomp guff,” declared Lonesome, holding one hand tightly over his
+nose and mouth.
+
+“He says he ain’t got ’em,” explained Bility solemnly.
+
+“I think he’s a liar, Whitey; let’s shearch him.”
+
+Bility staggered into Lonesome and tried to feel in his pockets, but
+Lonesome protested strenuously and Hashknife had to pry them apart.
+
+“Got’m in hish pocket,” declared Bility.
+
+“Can’t be dood,” Whitey shook his head violently. “Can’t put rooshter in
+pocket.”
+
+“Tha’s right!” exclaimed Bility. “Too wild. Let’s shing a shong. What
+shay?”
+
+“Not in here,” declared the bartender. “You cowpunchers start to sing in
+here and I’ll----”
+
+“Don’t go no further.” Lonesome shook a warning finger at the bartender.
+“You’ve threatened us s’fficiently, Misser Weed. We unnerstand yore
+at’tude perfec’ly; perfec’ly. You are not a frien’ of a workin’ man, so
+you ain’t. I refuse to shing in yore housh. C’mon.”
+
+They strung out in single-file, with Hashknife bringing up the rear, and
+went into the street. Whitey leaned against the side of the building and
+tried to adjust his hat to an even balance.
+
+“Mus’ go back t’ work,” he declared, trying to force himself to a
+semblance of sobriety. “I’m workin’ man.”
+
+“Ain’t you goin’ t’ shing?” queried Lonesome.
+
+“Yesh, I’ll shing--shometime--but not yet. Gotta work.”
+
+He shoved himself away from the wall and wended a very erratic way down
+the narrow sidewalk.
+
+“Perfec’ly capable man,” declared Lonesome airily, “but he’s curshed
+with a thirsht. Ha, ha, ha! Rhymes like a po’m. Curshed with a thirsht.”
+
+“You think yo’re funny, don’tcha?” queried Bility, with drunken sarcasm.
+
+“Yesshir, I am. Betcha I c’n make you laugh.”
+
+“Zasso? Betcha five dollars yuh can’t.”
+
+“Lissen, that’s a bet, now.”
+
+Lonesome shook a finger in Bility’s face.
+
+“Can’t back down, yuh mus’ ’member.”
+
+“Nosshir, I back down from no man. How yuh goin’ do it?”
+
+“Take off yore boots, old shad face. I’m goin’ to tickle yore feet.”
+
+“Tha’s dirty trick,” declared Bility. “That ain’t bein’ funny, you
+danged fathead--tha’s torture. But I’ll let yuh try it. I’m numb all
+over, anyway.”
+
+He half-fell to the edge of the sidewalk and began tugging at his boot,
+which resisted his efforts stubbornly. Lonesome essayed to help him and
+Hashknife walked away, leaving them in each other’s arms and the boot
+still intact.
+
+Hashknife crossed the street and bought some tobacco, after which he
+sauntered down the street to the little depot. He found Whitey Anderson
+slumped in a chair, his head dripping wet and his shirt saturated.
+
+“Water-cure,” explained Whitey. “Darn near drowned myself, but it sure
+sobered me up. I get with that blamed gang up there and drink too much.
+Anyway--” Whitey hooked his toe into the rounds of a chair and jerked
+it around for Hashknife-- “Anyway, I’m sick as ---- of this town and
+this job. Nothin’ ever happens, except somebody gets drunk and shoots
+up things a little. And I mostly always miss that.”
+
+“Wolf Wells seems like a nice town,” observed Hashknife.
+
+“It does? Well, you can have it, as far as I’m concerned. I’m goin’ to
+have another station or I quit poundin’ brass.”
+
+Hashknife laughed softly over his cigaret.
+
+“I should think you’d get lots of excitement. Train comin’ in every day
+and all that.”
+
+“My ----!” Whitey stared at Hashknife wonderingly.
+
+“Trains comin’ in--sa-a-ay, the only reason they ever come to Wolf Wells
+is because there’s a Y here, and it makes the engineer seasick to ride
+backward. Never any passengers.”
+
+“One come in this mornin’, didn’t he?”
+
+Whitey grew thoughtful for a moment.
+
+“Uh-huh. That’s right, we did have one today. Yessir, I remember that
+Carsten came in.”
+
+“Come very often?”
+
+“Well, not every day,” grinned Whitey. “He comes every month or so--him
+and his limp. Yuh know, a horse or a cow stepped on him about six month
+ago and busted his ankle.”
+
+“Cow or a horse?” grinned Hashknife. “Don’t he know which it was?”
+
+Whitey chuckled softly and helped himself to Hashknife’s cigaret
+makings.
+
+“I don’t think he knows. Yuh see, it was in the dark. They was loadin’
+a train of stock out at the loadin’-corrals and Carsten was helpin’. He
+sure hollered to beat ----. It kinda crippled him for a while.”
+
+“Does he buy a lot of stock around here?”
+
+“Yeah, I think he does--quite a little. Mostly from the Circle Cross,
+though.”
+
+“That’s what cuts down the profits on cattle--the freight,” observed
+Hashknife. “By the time yuh pay for a lot of cars from here to Chicago,
+yuh ain’t got much left.”
+
+“They don’t pay the freight,” explained Whitey. “The buyer pays ’em so
+much F. O. B. They’ve got to load ’em, of course. But I guess they get
+a pretty good price, at that.”
+
+“Are most of the cattle shipped from here?”
+
+“No-o-o. Mostly everythin’ north of here ship from here, and the Flying
+M and the Circle Cross ship quite a lot, but the last two Circle Cross
+shipments went from the siding at Sandy, about five or six miles below
+here.
+
+“That siding was put in for the 66 outfit, so they tell me; but anybody
+can use it. It’s about as close to the Circle Cross as this is, and if
+they pick their cattle from the south range, it’s closer.”
+
+“No town there?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“Nope; not even a shed. Just a loading-corral, that’s all.”
+
+A man came in to argue about an overdue express package, so Hashknife
+sauntered back uptown. He stopped to speak with the sheriff, who was
+filled with gloom over the fact that his deputy was _hors de combat_.
+
+“Lonesome’s just plain drunk,” he announced. “He’s bad enough when he’s
+sober. I found him and Edwards out in the street, with their boots off,
+tickling each other’s feet. That’s a ---- of a thing for grown men to
+do.”
+
+Hashknife grinned widely and went back to his horse. He had tied the
+Sharps rifle to the horn of his saddle and now he rode away with it
+swinging in his hand. Instead of keeping to the road he turned into
+the hills and rode straight toward the Tomahawk.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a broken country and he was forced to travel slowly, but it was
+much safer than to take chances of being shot at on the road. He passed
+the spot where he had picked up Poco’s trail that morning, and swung
+wide around the coulée to come down at the west side of the Tomahawk.
+He had no wish to take a chance on being shot at again, although he did
+not expect the bushwhacker to be on the job again that day.
+
+He came out on the brow of the hill and drew rein. There was no one in
+sight at the ranch-house. The sun was low over the Western hills and the
+air was filled with the lazy drone of insects. From down in the hills a
+cow bawled softly.
+
+Suddenly the drowsy gray bronco threw up its head, ears forward, as
+it glanced almost at right angles, and to the east. Hashknife turned
+quickly and looked in that direction.
+
+About four hundred yards away, a man was crossing the ridge; a man who
+stooped low in the sage and appeared to be carrying a rifle. He stopped
+and appeared to turn in their direction.
+
+Hashknife knew that the man had seen him; so he whirled his horse around
+and spurred him into deeper cover. As Hashknife drew up he saw the man
+running in the opposite direction, still running crouched over, and
+disappeared over the ridge.
+
+Hashknife debated quickly. This man was armed with a rifle, and if it
+was the bushwhacker, he knew how to use it. He had a decided advantage
+over Hashknife, because he could stop just beyond the ridge and wait
+for Hashknife to come to him.
+
+“He must ’a’ been just givin’ it up as a bad job,” decided Hashknife,
+“and I caught him pullin’ out. C’mon, bronc.”
+
+Hashknife rode back in the direction of the Tomahawk, but as soon as
+he crossed the top of the ridge, he spurred his horse into a gallop
+and cut the side of the hill toward where the man had disappeared.
+This left another ridge between where Hashknife rode and where the
+man had disappeared, and Hashknife felt sure that the man would not
+dare to try and cross back to his original position on the slope to
+the Tomahawk.
+
+Hashknife rode about eight hundred yards along the side of the hill,
+swung back near the top and dismounted, leaving his horse in a heavy
+clump of greasewood. Cautiously he went to the top of the ridge and
+studied every inch of the country.
+
+To the right of him was the spot where the man had crossed the next
+ridge, and Hashknife could see that the man had gone into a heavily
+wooded coulée. Minute after minute passed, but still Hashknife’s eyes
+studied every bit of brush in sight.
+
+But there was nothing, except the heat-haze of late afternoon. Across
+the coulée in a jumble of rocks a ground-hog whistled shrilly, angrily,
+as the shadow of a circling hawk passed over the rocks.
+
+Hashknife grinned and reached for his tobacco.
+
+“Everybody’s gunnin’ for somethin’,” he said softly, “but a man is the
+weakest of all, when it comes to knowin’ when to duck. The ground-hog
+knows what to dodge, and that hawk ain’t got a chance to collect a feed.
+I suppose I’d know how to dodge bullets, if my ancestors for several
+hundred years back had been dodgin’ ’em a few times per day all their
+lives.”
+
+Suddenly he caught sight of a moving object far down the coulée to his
+left. It was almost half a mile away, but he was able to see that it
+was a man on a pinto horse. As Hashknife watched him he swung to the
+right, climbed up a narrow coulée to the top of the ridge, where he
+stood, silhouetted against the sky, for several moments. Then he rode
+over the ridge and out of sight.
+
+“Man on a pinto,” mused Hashknife. “Too far away for a shot with this
+old gun, and, anyway, I don’t know that he’s the man I’m after.”
+
+He watched for about five minutes longer and went back to his horse,
+where he mounted and rode to the Tomahawk ranch-house.
+
+They were all glad to see him, especially Sleepy, who was propped up
+in a chair, trying to teach Lorna to roll cigarets for him. Jimmy, the
+half-breed, was there but, like his aboriginal ancestors, did not ask
+questions.
+
+Hashknife explained to Sleepy what had happened to him after leaving
+there that morning; told him of following Poco Saunders, and of seeing
+the man on the pinto.
+
+“Jimmy,” Hashknife turned to the half-breed, “who rides a pinto horse?”
+
+Jimmy squinted thoughtfully and shook his head.
+
+“Nobody, I guess. I have pinto long time ago, but him stole, I think.”
+
+“Long time ago? How long is a long time, Jimmy?”
+
+“T’ree, four month, I think.”
+
+Lorna had been an interested listener, but now she exclaimed:
+
+“Why, the man that shot Sleepy was riding a pinto! I did not think to
+tell you before.”
+
+“Pinto, pinto, who owns the pinto,” laughed Hashknife. “There’s no pinto
+on the Circle Cross. Buck Avery rides a Roman-nosed buckskin and a
+jug-headed roan. Poco has a sorrel and a bay; Trainor keeps four others
+at the stable, but there ain’t a pinto in the outfit.”
+
+“Well,” grinned Sleepy, “mother says I’ll be ridin’ in a day or so; and
+we’ll find out who forks a painted bronc. You need me and my brains,
+cowboy.”
+
+“Uh-huh,” Hashknife grinned widely. “I sure need yuh, Sleepy.”
+
+Lorna and her mother went into the kitchen and Sleepy motioned Hashknife
+to come closer.
+
+“I’ll tell yuh why Cassidy drew the deadline with the Circle Cross. It
+was because Trainor came to see Lorna and made love to her. He got drunk
+and bragged about it in Wolf Wells, it seems, and when Cassidy asked him
+if he was goin’ to marry her--well, I reckon Trainor wasn’t.
+
+“Lorna didn’t tell me, but her mother did. Smoky Cole came to see her a
+few times, too; but Mrs. Cassidy says that Smoky was nice boy.”
+
+Hashknife nodded slowly and looked straight at Sleepy.
+
+“You ain’t stuck on her, are yuh, Sleepy?”
+
+Sleepy rubbed his hand thoughtfully on his knee, avoiding Hashknife’s
+eyes for a moment, but looked up and said:
+
+“No. She’s goin’ to marry Ben Lanpher, if he gets loose. They’ve been
+mighty good to me here, Hashknife. The old lady is a dinger, y’betcha.
+My own mother couldn’t ’a’ done more for me than she has. If old
+Cassidy don’t get acquitted, I’m goin’ down and blow a corner off that
+jail. Gotta do somethin’ to show my appreciation.”
+
+Hashknife stayed to supper and spent the evening with them. Bright
+moonlight flooded the land when he started back for the Circle Cross,
+so he headed into the hills in preference to taking a chance along the
+lighted road. There were too many narrow places where a man might lie
+in wait with a sawed-off shotgun.
+
+He rode slowly along the moonlit ridges, through the misty-gray-blue
+hills; silent, except for the occasional yipping bark of a coyote or
+the sleepy bawl of a cow. From far away came the faint whistle of a
+locomotive as the train drew near Wolf Wells.
+
+Hashknife stopped his horse and rolled a cigaret. He could think clearer
+with a cigaret between his lips. He had the glimmering of an idea--a
+solution to the whole problem--but there were many tangles to straighten
+out, many loose ends to pick up yet.
+
+“Gawd A’mighty,” he said half-aloud. “I ain’t askin’ nothin’ for me and
+Sleepy. That other two thousand that Lanpher offers us ain’t worth
+prayin’ for, but if you can see yore way clear to keep them dirty pups
+from fillin’ us with lead until I can clean up this layout, I sure wish
+you’d do it. Amen. C’mon, bronc.”
+
+Which was the nearest thing to a prayer that Hashknife Hartley had ever
+offered--and it was not for himself or his partner--but for those who
+would profit more than gold.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+The trial of Ben Lanpher for the murder of Smoky Cole was the first case
+on the docket and caused much speculation in the Ghost Hills Range. They
+came from far and wide to sit in a hot, stuffy court-room and listen to
+the bickerings of the attorneys. Mitchell, the San Francisco lawyer, had
+worked swiftly in building up a defense, which he knew to be weak and
+insufficient. His only argument would be that Ben was too drunk to have
+done the deed.
+
+There was no one who could say what kind of a bullet had killed Smoky
+Cole. Lanpher had told Mitchell about the doings of the bushwhacking
+rustlers, but Mitchell knew that there was little hopes of throwing
+the guilt upon a party or parties unknown; especially after Ben’s hat
+and gun had been found near the murdered man.
+
+The fact that Ben and Smoky had tried to shoot each other in town, and
+that Ben had left town ahead of Smoky, tended to weaken the defense
+badly.
+
+Eph Baker, the prosecuting attorney, chewed tobacco and grinned
+benevolently upon everybody. Eph was fat, and the hot weather bothered
+him considerably, but he realized that little effort would be necessary
+to win this case. He had prepared a scathing denunciation of young men
+who come to cowland and mix their whisky with six-guns.
+
+It had cost him much in perspiration to prepare this tirade, but the
+heart within him rejoiced that he would be directing his verbal
+broadsides at “city-folk” and not at the people of the range country.
+He felt sorry for the Lanpher family, and especially for the young
+lady, but Eph was cognizant of his place in the sun and was going to
+make a name for himself, in spite of his feelings.
+
+Ben was a greatly changed young man since his few days in jail. He
+realized what his escapades had done for him and there was little
+doubt of his sincere repentance. His mother, sister and father sat at
+the table with Mitchell, while just away from them sat Ben and the
+sheriff.
+
+Sleepy was able to sit in a saddle again and rode in with the family
+from the Tomahawk. He was a little pale and had not regained his full
+strength, but his six-gun swung at his hip and he prayed for an open
+shot at the man who had shot him from ambush.
+
+The sheriff had questioned Hashknife regarding Lorna’s identification
+of the man, but Hashknife had evaded the question. Several other men,
+who had been at that meeting, tried to find out who she had meant, but
+Hashknife told nobody, except Trainor. The night after he had left the
+Tomahawk he had met Trainor at the front of the ranch-house and had
+told him what Lorna had said.
+
+Trainor was very grave over the information, and tried to remember
+some one who might look or ride like Buck Avery, but was unable to do
+so. There seemed no doubt in his mind that Lorna was mistaken in the
+man, because of Buck’s condition.
+
+They both agreed to say nothing more about it. Buck’s spree was over
+and he became a normal being once more. But Poco Saunders did not seem
+to relax for a moment. Hashknife felt that Poco was keying himself up
+to a point where he was going to kill somebody. Somehow, Hashknife felt
+that Poco knew the guilty man--or thought he did--but was waiting until
+he was sure.
+
+And Hashknife had not been shot at for a day and a half, which showed
+that the Fantom Riders, whoever they might be, had relaxed their
+aggressiveness, or decided that he was a hard target to hit. Hashknife
+was inclined to favor the former.
+
+The first day of the trial was devoted to securing a jury. Few
+challenges were used by either side, and the usual question-- “Have you
+formed any opinion as to the guilt or innocence of the defendant?” was
+omitted.
+
+Every one conceded that it would be a short trial, because of there
+being no witnesses, except those who had seen Ben Lanpher ride away
+ahead of Smoky Cole. The old prospector had disappeared into the
+hills and no one knew where he had gone. No one knew where he had
+come from or who he was, and it was whispered that he might be one
+of the rustling gang.
+
+Hashknife rode home that evening with Trainor and Buck, while Sleepy
+went back with the Cassidy family and Jimmy. The Lanphers had taken
+rooms at the hotel, intending to stay there during the trial. Poco
+remained in town, and Hashknife noticed that he was drinking a
+little.
+
+Trainor and Hashknife discussed the case on the way home, but Buck had
+little to say.
+
+“We’ve got to pull for Ben, thasall,” observed Trainor. “He’s up against
+a hard deal and I don’t look for him to get loose.”
+
+“If he gets loose, Cassidy won’t have much trouble,” observed Hashknife.
+“Mitchell is goin’ to work from the angle that there was bushwhackin’
+done before Smoky was killed and afterward. Mebbe he can convince that
+jury that Ben had no hand in it at all.”
+
+“He might,” agreed Trainor.
+
+Later on, Hashknife asked Buck what had become of Carsten and Buck told
+him that Carsten had stayed in town to see old man Shappee, but might be
+out to the Circle Cross the next day. Buck was not very communicative,
+so Hashknife let him alone. It was later in the evening that Poco came.
+He had been drinking, but the liquor only served to make him more quiet.
+Hashknife was outside the barn when Poco came out and they stood
+together for a while without speaking.
+
+“Poco,” said Hashknife seriously, “did you see the color of the horse
+you trailed?”
+
+“Color?” Poco studied the question for a while, before he nodded and
+said--
+
+“Yeah--a pinto.”
+
+“Who rides a pinto?”
+
+“I’ve been tryin’ to find out,” said Poco slowly.
+
+Quong’s supper triangle stopped the conversation, and the trial was not
+discussed at the meal. Trainor seemed greatly preoccupied, Buck a little
+sullen and Poco quiet as usual.
+
+Toward the end of the meal, Hashknife turned to Trainor.
+
+“Why do they call this gang ‘The Fantom Riders?’ ”
+
+Trainor laughed shortly.
+
+“I suppose it’s because they work like ghosts, Hartley. Nobody has ever
+seen ’em.”
+
+“Has anybody ever tried to find ’em?”
+
+Trainor leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands.
+
+“Tried to find ’em?” he repeated slowly, and laughed. “They sure have.”
+
+“There ain’t much brains in the Ghost Hills, then,” observed Hashknife
+slowly.
+
+“What do you mean?” queried Trainor quickly, while Buck and Poco grew
+interested. Hashknife grinned and pursed his lips.
+
+“Just what I said,” he declared, squinting his eyes away from the smoke
+of his cigaret.
+
+“It takes brains to catch ghosts.”
+
+“Mebbe you could catch ’em.” Buck’s remark was sarcastic, but Hashknife
+merely laughed at him.
+
+“Sure I could catch ’em--if it was worth my while.”
+
+Trainor laughed and shook his head.
+
+“I’m afraid they’d get you first, Hartley.”
+
+“Thasso? They’ve sure done enough shootin’ at me. What I don’t
+understand is how they ever hit anybody. Such poor shootin’ as they’ve
+been doin’.”
+
+Hashknife knew that the marksmanship had been good enough, but the
+shooter had picked his targets at long range. Buck laughed shortly and
+got to his feet.
+
+“Well,” he said, “why don’t yuh go out and get ’em? It’ll be worth yore
+while, I reckon. The ranchers would be willin’ to pay yuh well.”
+
+“Go ahead,” grinned Trainor. “The Circle Cross will sure pay yuh a good
+reward and the others will chip in.”
+
+“By golly, I might, at that,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+“Lemme know when yuh start in,” laughed Buck, “and I’ll pick out a soft
+spot to bury yuh in, Hartley.”
+
+They finished their supper and went outside. It was growing dark and a
+slight breeze was blowing in from the north. A lone rider swung in
+through the main gate and rode up to them. It was Jimmy, the half-breed,
+and he spoke directly to Hashknife.
+
+“You come.”
+
+“What’s wrong now?” asked Hashknife quickly, thinking that the
+bushwhackers had been busy again.
+
+“You come,” repeated Jimmy and refused to say more.
+
+Hashknife went straight to the barn and saddled his gray horse. Trainor
+came down and offered to go with him, but Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“I’ll find out what he wants, Trainor. Let yuh know later.”
+
+They rode away with the three men watching after them, and went straight
+down the road. Jimmy did not speak until they were past the forks and
+heading toward Wolf Wells. Then he swung off the road to the right and
+said--
+
+“We go here.”
+
+It was just a little below where Hashknife had trailed Poco. There was
+no sign of a trail, but Jimmy went steadily on and into a brushy coulée
+where willows and cottonwoods grew in profusion. A tiny stream trickled
+over the rocks and on both sides the walls were almost precipitous. It
+was not a spot that a rider would choose in cutting across the country.
+The branches whipped Hashknife across the face in spite of their slow
+and cautious pace.
+
+Suddenly Jimmy stopped and Hashknife rode in beside him. They were up
+against a brush corral. They dismounted and Jimmy led the way around
+to where three poles had been placed across the opening.
+
+And just in front of them, plainly visible even in that weak light,
+stood a pinto horse. Hashknife studied the horse for a few moments and
+turned to Jimmy.
+
+“Is that your pinto?”
+
+“Mine,” nodded Jimmy, “Tomahawk on left shoulder.”
+
+“How did yuh find him, Jimmy?” Hashknife could not keep the elation out
+of his voice, and he placed a hand on the half breed’s shoulder.
+
+“I come through hills from town,” explained Jimmy. “Down there,”
+pointing back toward the road, “I find horse tracks. Rain make soft
+ground. Track point this way. I find ’nother horse track point this
+way.
+
+“I wonder why horse come in this cañon. That’s how I find. I come to you
+first. That my pinto, you bet.”
+
+“Good boy!” applauded Hashknife softly. “You’re the smartest man in the
+Ghost Hills, Jimmy.”
+
+“---- smart,” admitted Jimmy proudly. “Now I take my pinto.”
+
+“Not yet,” said Hashknife. “We’ve got to leave him here for a while,
+pardner. We know where he is, but we don’t want anybody else to know
+that we know it; _sabe?_”
+
+“---- right!” exclaimed Jimmy. “I’m smart.”
+
+“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “if we’re both smart, we’d better get out of
+here right now. C’mon.”
+
+They went back to their horses, mounted and rode out of the cañon. Jimmy
+headed for the road, but Hashknife called him back and advised that they
+travel through the hills to the Tomahawk.
+
+“Remember, they might be layin’ for us,” warned Hashknife. “We’ve got to
+be smart--me and you, Jimmy.”
+
+“You bet,” agreed Jimmy. “I’m smart. Sometime ---- fool. Jus’
+alike--mos’ always.”
+
+“And you said a lot of wise words,” laughed Hashknife.
+
+They rode to the Tomahawk and Hashknife told Sleepy what they had found.
+Sleepy grinned with delight and fairly hugged Jimmy, the half-breed.
+
+“But,” said Hashknife sadly, “if that son-of-a-gun is as smart as he
+seems to be, he’ll spot our horse-tracks. Yuh can’t get into that place
+without leavin’ plenty of sign.”
+
+“Well, what’ll we do?” asked Sleepy.
+
+“Be Johnny at the rat-hole,” grinned Hashknife. “We’ve got to be there
+when he finds the tracks, Sleepy. We’ll pull out of here before daylight
+and kinda drape ourselves on the edge of that cañon.
+
+“We’ll take that old Sharps along, and I’ll bet he’ll stop foolin’
+folks. You feelin’ well enough for rough work, or do yuh reckon yuh
+better stay here and keep warm?”
+
+“You try to stop me!” snapped Sleepy angrily.
+
+“Pretty ---- well,” stated the old squaw. “Good man--git well quick.”
+
+Sleepy took several naps during the night, but Hashknife huddled in a
+chair and smoked innumerable cigarets. The discovery of the hidden horse
+had simplified things to a great extent. It meant that the bushwhackers
+had stolen the pinto and were using him for their work, instead of using
+their own horses, which might be easy of identification.
+
+All night long Hashknife puzzled over different things, trying to
+untangle a web of suspicions and bring them to a point where he could
+work upon a reasonable basis. There was nothing definite upon which to
+rest his suspicions, but he had the glimmering of an idea that might,
+if things worked out right, bring results.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+He woke Sleepy about two hours before daylight and they rode into the
+hills. To satisfy their own curiosity that the pinto had not been
+removed they went to the brush corral and looked at the animal.
+
+Then they went back to the side of the cañon, hid their horses and sat
+down to wait. Daylight came, but nothing else. At nine o’clock they were
+both tired of the vigil. Both of them were to appear at the trial, and
+they felt that the pinto would not be moved that day, so they mounted
+and rode through the hills to Wolf Wells.
+
+Trainor, Carsten and Lanpher were together in the Antelope saloon when
+Hashknife and Sleepy arrived. Trainor invited them to have a drink, and
+afterward he and Carsten drifted away together.
+
+Lanpher was frankly worried about the trial, although he tried to appear
+unconcerned. Hashknife drew him aside and they sat down together at a
+vacant card-table.
+
+“I want to ask yuh a few questions,” said Hashknife easily. “You handle
+the business end of the Circle Cross, don’t yuh?”
+
+“Yes,” nodded Lanpher, “I handle most of it.”
+
+“How many head of cattle have you lost?”
+
+Lanpher grimaced bitterly and shook his head.
+
+“I don’t know exactly, Hartley. The last roundup showed a big loss. I
+have talked with several other owners and they have lost more or less,
+but I think that we have been hit harder than any of them. Of course,
+we were the largest owners.”
+
+“You ought to be able to make a good guess at what you’ve lost,”
+observed Hashknife. “You’d get a pretty fair count at the roundup, and
+you know how much you’ve sold.”
+
+Lanpher drew out a note-book and pencil, and, after making a few notes,
+tore out the page and handed it to Hashknife.
+
+“There is the sales for this year, Hartley. I’ll get the approximate
+roundup count from Trainor and give it to you later. He will know
+exactly what we started with, and what the average increase would
+be.
+
+“I have never attended to that end of the thing because I have been
+too busy with my other interests. I am not a practical cattle-man, but
+Trainor knows every phase of the business, and will be able to furnish
+you with facts.”
+
+Hashknife glanced at the notes and put the paper in his pocket.
+
+“I’ve got to check up on the amounts, or the approximate amounts of
+stolen stock, so as to get some idea of the bulk these thieves had to
+handle,” he told Lanpher.
+
+“Good idea,” nodded Lanpher indifferently, as he got to his feet. “Court
+is about to open, I think.”
+
+He walked away toward the court room, and Hashknife sauntered down the
+street to the depot. Whitey Anderson was tilted back in an old chair,
+his feet on the table and a cob-pipe between his teeth.
+
+“Howdy,” he greeted Hashknife. “Come in and rest your feet. How come you
+ain’t at the trial?”
+
+“Danged place is too stuffy,” grinned Hashknife, seating himself on the
+counter beside the clattering telegraph instrument.
+
+“I probably won’t be called before afternoon, anyway.”
+
+Hashknife rolled a cigaret and listened to the clicking sounder,
+although he did not understand the difference between a dot and a dash.
+
+“Say, I got into a kind of a mix-up over a darned telegram,” he told
+Whitey. “Along about the tenth of this month I sent a telegram to a
+certain party here in Wolf Wells and he swears he never got it.”
+
+“Swears he didn’t?”
+
+Whitey twisted the pipe-stem between his teeth and looked foolishly
+solemn.
+
+“Swears he didn’t get it, eh?”
+
+“Yeah,” Hashknife nodded seriously. “I think the darned jug-head got
+it all right, but didn’t want to answer it. Telegrams don’t get lost,
+do they, Whitey?”
+
+“Hm-m-m! Might--but they don’t very often. About the tenth, eh? Who was
+it sent to, Hartley?”
+
+“Well, I don’t want to say,” laughed Hashknife, “but if I knowed for
+sure, I’d make him a little bet that he got it.”
+
+“By golly, I’d know if he got it.”
+
+Whitey got to his feet rather belligerently.
+
+Hashknife laughed softly.
+
+“Don’t get mad, Whitey, but this feller said that you’d likely got drunk
+and lost it.”
+
+“Is that so!”
+
+Whitey slammed his pipe down on the counter and drew a bulky,
+flimsy-leafed volume from under the counter-top. He began flipping
+over the leaves, grunting to himself, while Hashknife peered over his
+shoulders, scanning the imprint of the telegrams.
+
+Page after page flipped past, until certain dates caused Whitey to scan
+them closer. Carefully they looked them over.
+
+“Did yuh sign your own name?” asked Whitey, going back over certain
+dates carefully.
+
+“Yeah, I sure did,” said Hashknife, his eyes shining with sudden
+delight.
+
+“Well--” Whitey slapped the book shut and tossed it back under the
+counter-- “Well, it never came to this office, Hartley--That’s a cinch.
+Where did yuh send it from?”
+
+“Phoenix,” lied Hashknife. “Dang it, I thought this feller just didn’t
+want to admit it, but I guess it got lost.”
+
+“Well, you can tell him that I didn’t lose it,” said Whitey
+half-angrily. “And you can tell him that I’ve only been drunk twice
+since I came here.”
+
+“Aw, don’t mind him,” laughed Hashknife. “He was drunk when he said it.”
+
+Hashknife wandered back uptown, sat down on the board sidewalk and
+scribbled a few words on the back of an old envelope. He seemed pleased
+with himself, as he softly sang:
+
+    “I loved a maiden, whose hair was like go-o-old,
+    And her eyes were as blue as the se-e-e-ea.
+    She said she’d be tr-r-r-rue,
+    But didn’t say who to-o-o.
+    I know now that she didn’t mean me-e-e-e.
+
+    Oh, I’m goin’ to Montana,
+    The trail’s mighty long-g-g,
+    But a trail’s always shorter
+    When I’m singin’ my so-o-ong.”
+
+Hashknife wailed that last soft note and grinned at his own efforts. He
+was not musical. In fact, he hardly knew the difference between “Home,
+Sweet Home” and “Little Brown Jug,” except for the difference in words.
+
+And it was not often that Hashknife sang; but just now he felt that
+he was entitled to lift his voice in song. Trainor was coming up the
+sidewalk with old man Shappee and Hashknife joined them. They were
+going to a restaurant; so Hashknife went along.
+
+“You won’t have to be a witness,” said Trainor, as they sat down.
+“The sheriff and Lonesome testified about findin’ the body, and told
+about you bein’ with them. It would only be a case of repeatin’ the
+testimony.”
+
+“I don’t reckon that the prisoner has got a chance in the world,”
+declared Shappee. “I never seen such a weak defense as he’s got. By
+---- I feel sorry for Lanpher; but I’d have to convict him, if I was
+on that jury.”
+
+“Looks bad for him,” agreed Trainor. “It looks bad.”
+
+“Well, it’s just so danged weak that the case will go to the jury in
+the mornin’,” said Shappee. “It ain’t what you’d call interestin’. Eph
+Baker’s got a cinch case and he knows it.”
+
+“Well,” grinned Hashknife, “yuh never can tell.”
+
+“No, that’s a fact. Cow-country juries are funny things.”
+
+After lunch Trainor drew Hashknife aside and tried to find out why
+Jimmy, the half-breed, came after him; but Hashknife only laughed and
+told him that Sleepy had sent for him.
+
+“Jimmy made it look like somethin’ important,” grinned Hashknife, “but
+it wasn’t.”
+
+Trainor lifted his eyebrows slightly, as if in disbelief, but Hashknife
+said nothing more. Carsten limped up from the courtroom and announced
+his intentions of getting some food, and in a few minutes court
+adjourned and Sleepy joined Hashknife.
+
+The Lanpher family came along together and Hashknife noticed that Mrs.
+Lanpher had been crying. He went to them and tried to laugh away their
+fears.
+
+“There ain’t nothin’ as bad as it looks,” he told her. “You keep on
+grinnin’, ma’am.”
+
+“There seems to be little cause for smiles,” said Helen wistfully.
+“Everything is wrong.”
+
+Hashknife shook his head quickly.
+
+“No, ma’am; that’s the wrong way to think. Down deep in yore heart you
+know danged well that Ben didn’t do it. He knows he didn’t; but when he
+looks at yuh and sees yuh cryin’ and looking gosh-awful sad--well, he
+kinda figures that yuh ain’t with him.
+
+“Cryin’ is fine sometimes,” Hashknife turned to Mrs. Lanpher, as though
+half-apologizing. “Yessir, it sure helps once in a while. But if you
+needed help real bad, would yuh expect to get it from a cryin’ person or
+one that smiles?”
+
+“I can see your point,” said Mrs. Lanpher sadly, but trying to smile.
+
+“Certainly, we all can,” said Lanpher.
+
+Mrs. Cassidy, the squaw, Lorna and Jimmy were coming from the courtroom
+and the Lanphers moved aside to let them pass on the narrow sidewalk.
+
+Lorna stopped and looked at Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“Why do you cry?” she asked softly. “Are you afraid?”
+
+Mrs. Lanpher forced a smile as she shook her head.
+
+“I am trying to not be afraid, child.”
+
+Lorna nodded and looked up at Hashknife.
+
+“We are not afraid, are we?”
+
+It was not what she said or the way she said it that made Hashknife
+stutter his reply of--
+
+“Yuh--yuh bet we ain’t, Lorna.”
+
+She smiled around at them and hurried to catch up with her mother, while
+the Lanphers looked after her.
+
+“There’s the prettiest girl in the world,” declared Hashknife aloud,
+although he had meant to say it only to himself. Sleepy was looking
+queerly at him and Hashknife blushed hotly.
+
+“Was Ben really going to marry her?” asked Helen.
+
+“Is going to,” corrected Sleepy.
+
+“Not if I can prevent it,” declared Lanpher quickly.
+
+“Which you can’t,” smiled Hashknife.
+
+Trainor and Carsten joined them; so Hashknife and Sleepy walked down the
+street and crossed over to the Antelope saloon, where they found Poco
+and Buck Avery. Poco was drinking steadily, but the whisky showed little
+effect on him.
+
+Several poker-games were in progress, and in a few minutes Carsten
+and Trainor came in and took seats in a game. Carsten spoke to Poco,
+but only received a black look for his courtesy. Poco was in no mood
+for companionship.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy stayed around town for an hour or so, but did not
+go to the courtroom. The place was crowded to the doors and the sun beat
+down on the old frame building with great intensity.
+
+Poco watched them mount and ride back toward the ranch and in a few
+minutes he mounted and went out of town, sitting very straight in spite
+of all he had drunk during the day.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy went straight to the brush corral and found the
+pinto still there. It was evident that the Fantom Riders were not
+aware that their hidden mount had been discovered--or perhaps they
+did not care.
+
+“Mebbe they’ve found out that we know about the pinto and will quit
+comin’ here,” suggested Sleepy.
+
+“They might, but I don’t believe it,” said Hashknife. “Somethin’ caused
+’em to lay off us for a while; but they’ll be back. They won’t lay off
+us until they’re behind the bars or we’re under the grass.”
+
+“I’ll choose the latter,” said Sleepy seriously. “I’ve always wished to
+have ‘Grandpaw’ carved on my tombstone. But I s’pose I’ll poke my nose
+into trouble along with you until somebody’ll select me a tenor-harp,
+which won’t match my sopranner voice a-tall.”
+
+Hashknife shook his head.
+
+“No, I don’t reckon we’re born to be shot, Sleepy. We’ve been shot at
+with everythin’ except a bow and arrows, ain’t we?”
+
+“And sling-shots,” laughed Sleepy. “But some danged poor shot will nail
+us both with a .22 some of these days. That’s fate, old-timer.”
+
+“Well, we ain’t learnin’ nothin’ by settin’ here,” said Hashknife,
+getting to his feet. He looked down at the brush corral and scanned
+the gray hills, where the heat-haze danced in waves.
+
+“I’ll tell yuh what to do, Sleepy. You go back to the Tomahawk and get a
+good sleep. Take it easy until an hour or so before daylight. Then you
+take that old Sharps rifle and come down here. Locate yourself where yuh
+can watch this pinto; _sabe?_”
+
+“And if anybody comes after it, I’ll shoot ’em loose from their
+disposition,” nodded Sleepy eagerly.
+
+“Make sure that it ain’t me, cowboy.”
+
+“Well, I’ll sure know the shape of his jaw before I pull the trigger of
+that old dreadnaught, y’betcha. What are you goin’ to do, Hashknife?”
+
+“I’m goin’ to the Circle Cross for the night; but you’ll sure see me or
+hear from me early in the mornin’. You better stick to the hills all the
+way home, Sleepy.”
+
+“Danged right. I’ve only got one life to give for my country, and I’m
+sure goin’ to be stingy with that. Look out for yourself, long feller.”
+
+Hashknife watched Sleepy ride away up the brushy slope, and swung back
+across the swale at the bottom of the corral cañon. He rode slowly,
+skirting the side of the hill until he reached the other swale above
+the road, where he had trailed Poco Saunders.
+
+Near the cottonwood clump he dismounted and looked closely at the
+ground. There were a number of horse-tracks, jumbled together; some
+hardly visible, which were made before the rain.
+
+Hashknife studied them closely, leading his horse from place to place.
+Then he found the imprint of a high-heeled boot, where a man had
+dismounted.
+
+“Now what did he get off for?” wondered Hashknife as he scanned the
+swale.
+
+The clump of old cottonwoods attracted him, so he led his horse down
+toward them. Farther down he found another heel-print, pointing toward
+the trees.
+
+He walked up to the clump, dropped his reins and looked around. There
+was nothing visible. He entered the clump and studied it from all
+angles. The road was not visible from any point in there.
+
+“They didn’t hide here to bushwhack anybody, that’s a cinch,” he
+muttered. “Smoky was probably shot from the other side of the road,
+and Jimmy, the half-breed, was shot from that direction.”
+
+Hashknife rolled a cigaret and leaned against the bole of one of the
+trees. As he passed the paper across his lips he lifted his head and
+glanced into the foliage. For a moment he stared intently and the
+cigaret slipped from between his fingers.
+
+Just about the height of a man’s reach, hanging closely against the
+gray bark of the old cottonwood, was a rifle in a canvas and leather
+scabbard. It was so nearly the color of the old bark that it would
+hardly be visible, unless seen at close quarters.
+
+Hashknife stepped over and unhooked the strap off the short limb. The
+rifle was a Winchester, .30-30, wrapped in oiled cloth, and filled
+with cartridges. He examined it closely and noted the peep sights, the
+well-kept mechanism and the polished bore.
+
+Then he took out his pocket-knife, opened the screw-driver blade and
+grinned widely as he deftly ruined the firing-pin. Then he wrapped the
+gun in its oiled cloth, slid it back into the scabbard and replaced it
+as he had found it.
+
+He went back to his horse, mounted and circled back a mile into the
+hills before striking the road and heading for the Circle Cross. And
+for the first time since coming to the Ghost Hills Range, he relaxed
+in his saddle and sang softly, all unconscious of his words or music:
+
+    “There’s a range far away in a beautiful land,
+    Where cowboys live happy and free-e-e;
+    And all decks have six aces
+    All the girls’ pretty faces,
+    O-o-oh, that is the land for me-e-e-e.
+
+    I’m goin’ to Montana,
+    The trail’s mighty long-g-g,
+    But a trail’s always shorter,
+    When I’m singin’ my song.”
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Trainor came to the ranch alone that evening. He said that Buck had
+started drinking again and would probably stay in Wolf Wells that
+night. The case had gone to the jury that afternoon.
+
+“You’ve got to give Eph Baker a lot of credit,” said Trainor, as they
+sat down to supper.
+
+“He didn’t make any plea. He knows that the case is a dead
+open-and-shut; so he told the judge and jury that he would not make
+any plea. Mitchell had little to say.
+
+“He talked kinda soft to the jury and asked them to remember that murder
+had been done from ambush twice just a short time before, and had been
+attempted since.
+
+“He pointed out the fact that Ben was just a wild kid and was drunk at
+the time. No, Mitchell didn’t have no defense to speak of.”
+
+“Then you think they’ll hang the kid?” queried Hashknife.
+
+“No-o-o; they’ll likely send him up for life.”
+
+“Life’s a long time,” mused Hashknife, sadly. “Didja ever think what
+that means, Trainor? It don’t even give yuh a fightin’ chance. Day
+after day, day after day--knowin’ that yuh can’t ever get out.”
+
+“Feller had better die fightin’,” nodded Trainor.
+
+“Yeah, that would be better. But what’s after death? Do we go into a
+better world, I wonder. I often wonder if cows and horses live in the
+hereafter.”
+
+“That’s a ---- of a thing to think about,” grunted Trainor. “Man would
+go loco tryin’ to think about it. My theory is this: When yore dead,
+yore dead--and that’s all there is to it.”
+
+“Then what’s the use of livin’ and tryin’ to make somethin’ of yourself,
+Trainor? What good does it all do yuh? Nossir, I think that there’s
+somethin’ else.”
+
+“Why should there be?” growled Trainor.
+
+“Because God had somethin’ in mind when he created man. He gave men and
+women a soul--or whatever it is that makes us what we are. Where does
+that go when the body dies? Does it die, too? You believe in God, don’t
+yuh, Trainor?”
+
+Trainor shoved away his plate and bit off the end of a cigar before he
+said:
+
+“I’ve never had time to believe in anythin’ that I can’t see. Whatcha
+tryin’ to do, start a revival?”
+
+“Only what yuh can see?” laughed Hashknife. “Then yuh don’t believe
+you’ve got a heart inside yuh, eh?”
+
+“----, I can feel that!”
+
+“Some folks claim they can feel God A’mighty.”
+
+“Aw-w-w ----!”
+
+Trainor kicked back his chair and strode into the living-room, while
+Hashknife grinned at Quong and held out his cup for more coffee.
+
+Quong grinned and shuffled over with the pot.
+
+“I no _sabe_ Melican God,” he said softly. “I _sabe_ Chinese God, you
+bet. Plenty good.”
+
+“They’re all the same, Quong. Do right all the time, help everybody,
+sing and smile. That’s God, Quong.”
+
+“You ---- right! You be plenty bad, you catch ---- sure.”
+
+“And yuh don’t have to die to get it either.”
+
+“Nossah. Plenty catchum lite here.”
+
+Hashknife grinned and followed Trainor into the living room, where he
+found the Circle Cross owner humped over in a rocking-chair, reading a
+newspaper. He grunted at Hashknife, but did not look up.
+
+“When does the sheriff start his posse combin’ the hills?” asked
+Hashknife.
+
+Trainor glanced up at him, but turned back to his paper.
+
+“How do I know?” he growled.
+
+“I just wondered.”
+
+Hashknife walked to the front door and squinted off across the hills. He
+leaned against the doorway and looked back at Trainor.
+
+“Say, I’ll betcha he don’t never do it, Trainor.”
+
+“Eh?”
+
+Trainor turned his head quickly.
+
+“Why won’t he?”
+
+Hashknife laughed shortly, seriously.
+
+“Trainor, I’ve come to the conclusion that the best thing I can do is to
+plumb ruin these Fantom Riders.”
+
+“Yeah?”
+
+Trainor placed his newspaper on the table and swung his chair around.
+Hashknife’s statement was worth his undivided attention, but the
+half-grin on his lips showed that he was a trifle skeptical.
+
+“Just how do you intend to do this, Hartley?” he asked.
+
+“By exposing the Fantom Riders.”
+
+Trainor squinted closely at Hashknife, as if trying to see if he was
+joking; but the tall cowboy’s face was very serious.
+
+“Yeah?” Trainor laughed shortly. “Well, just how are you goin’ to do
+that?”
+
+“I ain’t quite sure,” Hashknife grinned thoughtfully and shook his head.
+“I’ve got the goods on ’em right now, but I don’t want to tell anybody
+until I get set.”
+
+“Got the goods on ’em, eh? Tell me a little about it.”
+
+“Nope. I ain’t just sure enough yet, but I’ll make yuh a little bet
+that by this time tomorrow everybody’ll know who’s been doin’ all the
+stealin’ and shootin’ around here.”
+
+“That’s worth a bet,” smiled Trainor, “but the odds are all against yuh,
+Hartley.”
+
+“I’ll bet even money,” said Hashknife firmly. “I’ve got five hundred
+dollars that says I’m right. If you want to cover that amount--go
+ahead.”
+
+Trainor laughed and shook his head.
+
+“Not until I know more than I do now. You seem to think you have a
+cinch, and I never bet against a cinch.”
+
+“No, it ain’t a cinch, Trainor. I think I know who has been doin’ the
+shootin’; and the man or men who have been doin’ the shootin’ are the
+same ones that have been doin’ the rustlin’. Tomorrow mornin’ I’m goin’
+to ask a few questions in Wolf Wells, and what I learn will either cinch
+the case against ’em or bust my theory entirely.”
+
+“Well--” Trainor turned back to the newspaper--“I wish yuh luck,
+Hartley.”
+
+“Thank yuh,” said Hashknife and clumped down the steps, going to the
+bunk-house.
+
+For a long time he sat on his bunk in the dark bunk-house, humped over
+with his elbows on his knees, thinking of what he was going to do.
+Piece by piece he knitted the elusive evidence together; his lean jaws
+shut tightly, as he debated just what to do.
+
+In all the years that he and Sleepy had untangled range mysteries and
+troubles, this was the most fiendish outfit they had ever tried to run
+to earth. The cattle stealing end of the thing was on a par with any
+rustling trouble, except the clever way in which it had been done; but
+the fact that three men had died from ambush; shot from behind,
+without a chance to protect themselves, while others had almost lost
+their lives, made it entirely different from anything they had ever
+encountered.
+
+“They don’t deserve a trial,” muttered Hashknife. “Killin’ ain’t bad
+enough. I can forgive a rustler, but I can’t stand for a dirty
+murderer.”
+
+Neither Buck nor Poco showed up that night, which was not surprizing,
+and Trainor rode away fairly early, after asking Hashknife if he was
+going to town with him.
+
+Hashknife was in no hurry. He cleaned his six-shooter carefully, put on
+a clean shirt after shaving and took his time about saddling his horse.
+Then he rode away unhurried. At the forks of the road he turned toward
+the right, as if heading for the Tomahawk, spurring his gray into a
+gallop.
+
+But as soon as he galloped around the first curve he reined off the
+road and pointed into the hills, circling toward where he had found the
+hidden rifle. Here he was forced to slow down to a walk on account of
+the rough going.
+
+It was an ideal morning. The early morning mists were still rising up
+the sides of the gray hills; a meadow-lark warbled from the cottonwoods,
+and a flock of turtledoves, like fast-moving shadows, hurtled past on
+their way to a water-hole.
+
+The gray horse threw up its head in alarm when a long-legged jack-rabbit
+bounded from under a sagebush, jigged a few times to loosen up its kinks
+and faded away into the protective coloring.
+
+But Hashknife was not considering the beauties of nature just then. He
+rode very straight in his saddle, his six-shooter swinging loose in his
+right hand, while his eyes searched every movement on the brush-lined
+hills.
+
+He was nearing the clump of trees in the little swale now, and the gray
+had slowed down to a slow walk. Once he drew up and made a motion, as if
+to dismount, but did not.
+
+Suddenly a shot crashed out. The gray jerked back and Hashknife
+instinctively ducked. There was a brushy ridge between him and the
+shooter. For a moment Hashknife thought the shot had been fired at
+him, but the next moment came the spattering reports, as two guns
+opened a rapid fire.
+
+Hashknife’s first thought was that Sleepy had engaged the enemy.
+Forgetful of all danger to himself he spurred the gray into a lunging
+run and swept over the ridge and into the swale, circling wide above
+the clump of trees.
+
+The tall gray hurdled sage and greasewood, like a born hunter. Suddenly
+a horse came sweeping into them, its rider crouched low. Both horses
+were running at full speed, crossing each other at almost right-angles.
+
+Two six-guns spat bullets at almost the same moment, and Hashknife felt
+the hot sear of a bullet across the side of his neck. A swift sidewise
+glance showed the other rider sway in the saddle, but the next instant
+horse and rider swept out of sight.
+
+Hashknife tried to stop his lunging mount, but only managed to stop
+it almost against the grove of cottonwoods. He whirled in his saddle
+and tried to catch a glimpse of the other rider, but in vain. The
+gray hills had swallowed him up.
+
+A moment before, two wild riders had almost crashed into each other;
+both had fired with the intent to kill. Now a meadow-lark winged its
+way into the quiet swale and lifted its voice in song.
+
+Hashknife felt tenderly of his neck and got stiffly out of his saddle.
+Lying just a few feet away was the .30-30 rifle and around it was
+scattered four unexploded cartridges.
+
+Hashknife smiled grimly and climbed back into his saddle, leaving the
+gun where he found it. He jerked out the empty shell from his gun and
+replaced it with a fresh one.
+
+Then he spurred into a gallop again and went straight for the spot where
+he had told Sleepy to meet him. And the faithful Sleepy was right there,
+fairly bursting to know the meaning of those shots.
+
+“---- it, I stayed here,” he wailed. “I’m never where there’s anythin’
+goin’ on. What and who was it, Hashknife?”
+
+“Get on yore bronc and come on,” ordered Hashknife and Sleepy lost no
+time in following orders.
+
+They spurred down out of the hills and headed for town before Hashknife
+yelled back at him:
+
+“Shake up yore old coyote-bait, cowboy. I just swapped lead with Poco
+Saunders and I want to beat him to Wolf Wells.”
+
+“Poco Saunders!” yelled Sleepy. “Didja hit him?”
+
+“I hope not. I swapped before I thought.”
+
+“Hope not?” panted Sleepy, trying to urge his horse to greater speed in
+hopes of keeping up with the racing gray. “Why in ---- do yuh hope not,
+Hashknife?”
+
+“I’ll tell yuh in town,” yelled back the lanky one.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Trainor met the Lanpher family at the hotel. Carsten was with them, and
+they were anxiously waiting for news of the jury which had been locked
+up all night, battling out the fate of Ben Lanpher.
+
+Many of the ranchers and cowboys were still in town, anxious to know
+the verdict, and the Lily of the Valley and the Antelope saloons had
+profited greatly thereby.
+
+There was an air of utter despair about the Lanpher family. They
+realized that nothing short of a miracle could save Ben from paying
+the extreme penalty for the crime.
+
+The fact that the jury was still battling for a verdict showed that some
+of the members were unconvinced one way or the other. Lanpher paced the
+short lobby of the little hotel, his lips twitching nervously, paying no
+attention to the words of comfort from Carsten and Trainor.
+
+Mrs. Lanpher and Helen sat together, staring out of the dusty window,
+seemingly resigned to their fate, speaking to no one. Mrs. Cassidy, the
+squaw, and Lorna had stayed at the hotel, awaiting the verdict, and now
+they came down the narrow stairway, scanning the faces of the group, as
+though wondering what the morning was to bring.
+
+Trainor spoke to Lorna, but she did not look at him. After a glance
+around the room she went straight to Mrs. Lanpher and Helen, who looked
+up at her.
+
+“You worry too much,” said Lorna softly, and then, as though imparting a
+great truth:
+
+“Sleepy says to not worry. Everything come out right pretty soon.”
+
+Trainor and Carsten moved in closer.
+
+“Who is Sleepy?” queried Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“Oh, just a cowpuncher,” said Trainor. “He is a friend of Hartley, who
+works for us, Mrs. Lanpher.”
+
+“Just a cowboy?” Lorna spoke softly and looked straight at Trainor.
+
+“That’s all he is,” Trainor seemed slightly angry, and turned away, as
+if to dismiss the argument.
+
+Lorna turned to Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“I don’t know why he says that everything will come out right. He
+says--” Lorna smiled softly--“that you’ll always have good luck when
+you find a pinto horse.”
+
+“Pinto horse?” asked Lanpher, ceasing his restless pacing of the floor.
+“What about a pinto?”
+
+Trainor and Carsten were looking at Lorna, but she did not turn away
+from Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“I do not understand,” said Mrs. Lanpher. “How can a pinto horse bring
+one good luck?”
+
+Lorna shook her head seriously.
+
+“I don’t know, Mrs. Lanpher.”
+
+Trainor laughed sarcastically.
+
+“Indian superstition, Mrs. Lanpher,” he assured her.
+
+“That ---- lie!” grunted Mrs. Cassidy blandly, and Trainor’s face went
+black with rage at the retort.
+
+“Well,” Lanpher laughed shortly, “Mrs. Cassidy should be a judge of
+that, Trainor. Personally, I hope that a pinto is good luck. There
+doesn’t seem to be much luck for us here.”
+
+Trainor bit savagely at his underlip and strode out of the door,
+with Carsten going out behind him. They crossed to the Antelope and
+disappeared. Mitchell, the lawyer, came in and sat down.
+
+“Nothing from the jury-room,” he said wearily. “They seem to be at
+odds over something. They are a hard-headed lot of cattle-men, and I
+feel that we shall get the benefit of any doubt. Still, our defense
+was so weak; so weak that the prosecution was content to send the
+case to a jury on our own evidence and plea.”
+
+Lanpher blinked painfully and walked to the door. Mrs. Lanpher was
+crying softly and Mrs. Cassidy was looking at her, with a face as
+immobile as bronze. Then she said:
+
+“You lose boy--you cry. Mebbe I lose husban’--I no cry. Too ---- much
+cry; not ’nough laugh.”
+
+Lanpher had been leaning out, looking down the street, and now he turned
+back to those inside the lobby.
+
+“The jury has reached a verdict,” he half-whispered, and there was a
+decided catch in his voice, as he added--
+
+“We--we’ll know it all very soon.”
+
+Lonesome Hobbs came puffing up to the door and nodded violently.
+
+“They--they’ve agreed,” he panted. “I--I guess they gug-got hungry.”
+
+He turned and bow-legged his way across the street to notify every
+one, while those in the hotel lobby went slowly down to the courtroom;
+anxious, but still afraid to hear what the decision might be.
+
+The courtroom filled rapidly. Trainor and Carsten took seats at the
+table with the Lanpher family, and in a few minutes the sheriff brought
+Ben in the rear door. Ben was pale and appeared nervous, jerky. He sat
+down beside the sheriff and stared straight at the wall, ignoring the
+sheriff’s attempt at conversation.
+
+The courtroom buzzed with subdued conversation which ceased quickly
+when the gray-haired judge came in and sat down at his desk. The judge
+appeared tired and worn as he looked down at the prisoner and scanned
+the room.
+
+Then with a slow tread the jury filed in past the judge and sat down.
+Every eye in the room was upon them, and they seemed carefully to avoid
+looking at the prisoner who, after a searching glance, bowed his head.
+
+The judge rapped softly for order, and turned to the jury.
+
+“Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a decision?”
+
+Caleb Hardy, a raw-boned cattleman from the west side of the county, got
+slowly to his feet, holding a folded paper in his two big hands.
+
+“Judge, we have,” he said slowly, the lines of his face deepening, as
+he looked at the paper. “Yeah, we have. It’s all wrote out on this here
+paper.”
+
+He stepped slowly across the intervening space and handed it to the
+judge. The room was so still that one might hear the buzzing of flies
+on the window-panes, as the judge unfolded the paper and read it. For
+a moment he looked at the rear of the room, his eyes half-closed. Then
+he looked down at Ben Lanpher and said softly--
+
+“Ben Lanpher, stand up.”
+
+Ben glanced up at him for several moments before he got slowly to his
+feet, his hands resting on the table-top. The judge looked down at the
+paper and read aloud--
+
+“We, the jury, find Ben Lanpher guilty of murder in the first degree.”
+
+The paper slid from his fingers and he shut his eyes, as if he did not
+want to see how Ben Lanpher took the blow.
+
+Ben stared at him, turned his head and looked out across the silent
+crowd, his jaw set tight. Mrs. Lanpher began crying bitterly, and Ben
+stared at her, as if he did not understand what it was all about. Then
+he sat down and leaned forward on his folded arms, while the sheriff
+patted him on the back and tried to say words that would not come from
+his lips.
+
+The judge turned to the jury.
+
+“Gentlemen, is this your verdict?”
+
+They nodded slowly, and the foreman said hoarsely--
+
+“Judge, it was all we could do.”
+
+Trainor got up and crossed to Ben, offering his sympathy and hope; but
+Ben did not look up. Lanpher shoved Trainor aside and threw an arm
+around the boy’s shoulder.
+
+The room had been silent, as the audience watched every move of the main
+actors in the drama, but now there came the scrape of a footstep at the
+front door and Buck Avery came in. He started for the front of the room,
+but some one caught hold of him, whispering for him to be still.
+
+But Buck struck the hand aside and started down the aisle, just as the
+rear door swung open and Hashknife and Sleepy came in. As intent as the
+audience was on the prisoner, they gave more than passing interest to
+these two cowboys, who had used the private entrance to get into the
+room.
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy stopped near the judge’s desk and looked over
+the room. Lorna and her mother looked at them and they both smiled.
+Buck had halted about midway of the room in the center aisle, as if
+undecided what to do.
+
+“Ben Lanpher, stand up,” said the judge hoarsely.
+
+Ben did not hear him and the sheriff repeated the order. Ben stood
+up, his hand on his father’s shoulder, and looked straight at the
+grave-faced old judge.
+
+“Ben Lanpher, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree,
+and it is the duty of this court to carry out that verdict. Is there any
+reason why I should not pronounce sentence upon you here and now?”
+
+Ben looked away from the judge and down at his father.
+
+“No,” Ben shook his head. “I--I guess--not.”
+
+“There is a reason, judge.”
+
+Hashknife had spoken softly, but his voice carried to the far end of the
+room like a trumpet.
+
+The judge turned and looked at him in amazement. Eph Baker, the
+prosecutor, was on his feet in a moment.
+
+“I object to this!” he snapped. “What right ----”
+
+“There’s a mighty good reason, judge,” said Hashknife slowly, never
+taking his eyes off the crowd.
+
+“If you’ll let me, I’ll tell yuh why. If yuh won’t, I’ll tell it
+anyway.”
+
+“I protest against this interference,” insisted Baker, appealing to the
+judge, who was staring at the cowboys.
+
+“Set down, you fat hoptoad,” laughed Sleepy, and Baker’s teeth snapped
+angrily.
+
+“Well, it is irregular,” hesitated the judge, “but ----”
+
+Mitchell was already on his feet and before the judge.
+
+“Let him talk, your honor,” he begged. “It is a God-sent interference,
+if they have evidence.”
+
+“Little bright-eyes over there is havin’ a fit,” said Sleepy, pointing
+at Eph Baker, who was struggling to swallow his anger.
+
+Some one in the audience laughed cacklingly and a ripple of laughter
+followed. The Lanpher family were staring at Hashknife and Sleepy,
+as if afraid that something would interfere with their last-minute
+assistance.
+
+“The court will listen,” decided the judge, and there was evident relief
+in his voice.
+
+“I’m sure much obliged,” said Hashknife slowly. “We’re sorry to be so
+late--but better late than never.”
+
+He cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs over his sagging belt, while
+Sleepy moved back until he was against the judge’s desk.
+
+“You’ve all heard about the Fantom Riders,” said Hashknife, a half-grin
+on his lips.
+
+There was a perceptible movement in the crowd, a shuffling of feet, the
+clink of a spurred heel.
+
+“And you’ve all lost more or less stock,” continued Hashknife. “It’s
+been a mystery where them cows went to. The Circle Cross lost a lot
+of cows; so Mr. Lanpher decided to hire a cattle detective, and gave
+him work as a cowpuncher.
+
+“The Fantom Riders killed him. They hired another. Pinto Cassidy is
+charged with his murder, because he was killed on the Tomahawk ranch.
+Yuh see,” Hashknife grinned, “Pinto Cassidy drew a dead-line between
+his ranch and the Circle Cross.
+
+“Mr. Lanpher kinda run out of detectives. There wasn’t much use, it
+seemed. The criminals got wise to ’em as soon as they showed up, and
+a feller ain’t got much chance to stay in the game when men shoot
+from the brush.
+
+“Me and my pardner--” Hashknife pointed at Sleepy--“We hired out to lay
+the ghosts. Nobody, except Lanpher, knew who we were. He hired us in San
+Francisco, and we sneaked in here without any brass bands. Not a danged
+soul knowed who we were--but they started shootin’ at us right away.”
+
+Hashknife shifted his feet and his eyes narrowed a trifle. His smile was
+all gone now. Even Ben Lanpher had forgotten that he was a condemned
+murderer, and was watching and listening.
+
+“They even mistook Jimmy, the half-breed, for me, and plugged him in the
+arm. They sure wasted a lot of lead and got little results. They plugged
+Sleepy once.
+
+“I wondered how they spotted us so quick. I hired out to the Circle
+Cross, after Smoky Cole, the foreman, had been killed. Of course, Ben
+Lanpher was arrested for that killin’.
+
+“I think I know why Smoky was killed, folks. Smoky was a hard drinker, a
+man who didn’t want to be bossed, and he might--talk.”
+
+“Wait just a moment,” interrupted Baker. “Is this all guess work on your
+part? If you have proven facts ----”
+
+“Set down!” growled Sleepy angrily. “You can ask some questions after
+he’s all through.”
+
+Baker subsided reluctantly.
+
+Hashknife laughed shortly and started to speak, but Sleepy interrupted
+with:
+
+“Buck Avery, I wish you’d set down. Yuh make me nervous standin’ there
+in the aisle.”
+
+Buck snarled back a short answer, which was not intelligible, and a man
+moved over for him to sit down, but Buck ignored him.
+
+“Go ahead, Hashknife; he won’t set down--yet,” said Sleepy, and
+Hashknife continued:
+
+“Until we came here, nobody had ever seen the Fantom Riders. We seen
+him--on a pinto horse; so we had that much evidence. But nobody around
+here, except Jimmy, the half-breed, owned a pinto; and Jimmy’s pinto
+had been stolen.
+
+“The shootin’ had all been done with a .30-30 rifle; but they all shoot
+the same size ammunition, which made it hard to prove which .30-30 fired
+the shots. Are yuh all interested in my story?”
+
+“Keep weavin’, brother!” exclaimed a cowboy earnestly.
+
+“Well, I got to wonderin’ about that dead-line,” said Hashknife
+thoughtfully.
+
+“Men don’t draw deadlines just for fun; so I went on a still-hunt for
+a reason--and found it. Pinto Cassidy is in jail for killin’ that
+detective on Tomahawk property, but he never killed him. It was a ----
+easy thing to put that dead man there and lay the blame on the old
+man.”
+
+“Can you prove that?” asked Baker quickly.
+
+“I can. But I reckon I’d better let yuh into the mystery of the stolen
+cattle. It started over a certain feller wantin’ a girl. Her pa and ma
+didn’t want her to marry him; so he decided to get even with pa and ma
+by bustin’ up their herds.
+
+“He got kinda stuck on another girl, but because she wasn’t white, he
+wanted to love her, but not as a wife. It’s things like that, gents,
+that causes dead-lines.”
+
+“What do you mean?” roared Trainor. “You mean to say that I----”
+
+Hashknife ignored him, but Sleepy’s eyes never left Trainor’s face, as
+Hashknife continued:
+
+“There was only one man who could have told that me and Sleepy were
+comin’ here to work on this case. We met him in Lanpher’s home in
+Frisco. He was the link to a weak chain of evidence. I needed him; so
+I got a look at a telegram down at the depot. Here it is.”
+
+Hashknife produced an old envelope and read aloud--
+
+“Lanpher makes private shipment of one long one medium. Watch for them
+soon.”
+
+“That was the telegram I discovered, and I knowed it was the wire that
+caused us to be met with bullets. Then--” Hashknife shoved the letter
+into his pocket--“Then Jimmy stumbled on to the pinto. It was back in
+the hills in a brush corral, hidden away. The bushwhacker could switch
+horses there any old time. It sure was a clever scheme--while it
+lasted.
+
+“Old man Luck was kinda with me and I found that .30-30 rifle, hanging
+in a tree; where it was easy to get, but hard to find. We had the pinto,
+the rifle, the telegram that put us in bad with the Fantom Riders.
+
+“Folks, your cattle were never herded out of the Ghost Hills. They were
+loaded right into cattle-cars and shipped to market. They were loaded at
+night, shipped at night, and the crooked buyer falsified his reports,
+split the pot with a dirty coyote and his hired whelps.
+
+“I know of three trains of Circle Cross cattle that were shipped out of
+Wolf Wells and the siding down the line; but Lanpher’s reports show that
+only fifteen cars of stock were sold in one whole year. They ----”
+
+“Look out, Jim!” screamed Buck. “They’ve got us, ---- their hearts!”
+
+Buck’s gun flashed in his hand and his first bullet smashed into the
+judge’s desk beside Sleepy. The roar of his gun punctuated his screaming
+admission of guilt.
+
+Trainor had flung himself sidewise, between Hashknife and the jury,
+which proceeded to lie down, fall down or to get out of line in any
+possible way, while Carsten drew a gun, seemingly out of thin air,
+and flung himself forward only to be met by Sleepy’s first shot,
+fired from his hip.
+
+Carsten pitched forward, his gun spinning out of his hand, while over
+his falling body whistled the lead from Hashknife’s six-gun.
+
+Trainor, with bullets thudding into his big body, laughed chokingly
+through the smoke and tried to make his nerveless finger pull the
+trigger of his big Colt. Then he went down sprawling on his face, his
+right hand still convulsively gripping the big gun.
+
+Buck Avery had whirled and run to the rear after his first shot. He was
+seemingly bewildered as to what to do, but when he saw both Carsten and
+Trainor down he sprang through the door out into the street, with
+Hashknife, Sleepy and the sheriff racing after him.
+
+They reached the street, only to see Buck vaulted into a saddle and
+whirled his horse around. Hashknife fired a shot at him, but it was a
+clean miss. Buck was swinging his six-shooter up and down, as if trying
+to shoot back at them, when a horse and rider came out from between two
+of the buildings near Buck.
+
+It was Poco Saunders, swaying weakly in his saddle, his reins dragging
+in the dust. A six-shooter dangled in his right hand and he seemed about
+to fall from his saddle; but at the sight of Buck Avery he straightened
+up and drove home his spurs.
+
+Straight at Buck he went, and Buck waited for him, both shooting as they
+came together with a crash. Buck’s horse went down from the impact, and
+Poco fell from his saddle; the riderless horse falling halfway to its
+knees and stopping dead still.
+
+Hashknife was the first to reach them. Buck was dead; filled with
+bullets from Poco’s gun. They turned Poco over and bolstered him
+against Buck’s body; while the crowd poured out of the courtroom and
+surrounded them.
+
+Poco was not dead, but he was going fast. He tried to grin up at
+Hashknife, and his voice was weak, as he said:
+
+“Shot at you by accident, Hartley--this mornin’. Get Trainor, if yuh
+can. He’s the head of the gang. Carsten is another. I helped ’em steal
+cattle, but I didn’t have anythin’ to do with the killin’. They didn’t
+trust me and Smoky, I guess.
+
+“Either Buck or Trainor killed Smoky, my bunkie. Buck tried to kill
+you. That drinkin’ was all a blind, I think. I followed you and Stevens
+to the pinto and I seen you find the rifle, I laid for Buck. The rifle
+wouldn’t shoot.”
+
+“Poco, I’m sorry,” said Hashknife. “I like you, cowboy.”
+
+“Thank you, Hartley.” Poco looked around at the crowd and tried to
+smile. “I reckon I’m all through. They can turn Ben Lanpher and Pinto
+Cassidy loose now. I--I’m just a ---- rustler, Hartley; but I never
+killed from ambush. I can go clean. And I want yuh to know that Smoky
+wasn’t in on the killin’. It was just Trainor and Buck.”
+
+“Trainor, Buck and Carsten won’t do it again,” said Hashknife.
+
+Poco nodded shortly and lifted his head, as if listening, but his eyes
+were glazing fast.
+
+“Somebody singin’?” he asked wearily.
+
+“What are they singin’ about, I wonder? Why, I know that song. Gee,
+that’s ----”
+
+Poco smiled, but this time the smile did not fade. Hashknife
+straightened up, his lips shut tightly, a sadness in his eyes, as he
+turned to the crowd.
+
+“They’re all Fantom Riders now, folks,” he said and turned away toward
+the Lanpher family near the courtroom door.
+
+Sleepy was talking to Lanpher, as Hashknife came up, and in a moment Ben
+Lanpher joined them. He had been turned loose.
+
+“Here’s m’ prize pup-prisoner!” yelled Lonesome, and they turned to see
+old Pinto Cassidy coming from the jail, walking alone. He was also free.
+Lonesome was behind him, grinning from ear to ear, and doing a burlesque
+war-dance.
+
+“That’s ---- good!” blurted Mrs. Cassidy hoarsely. “My man go home now.”
+
+“Sure, I dunno what it’s all about,” protested Cassidy, as Lorna threw
+both arms around his neck and her tears mingled with the stubble of his
+wrinkled face.
+
+“My ---- I’m thirsty,” choked a lean-faced cowboy, who had been on the
+jury. He turned away toward a saloon, and several followed him.
+
+“Hartley, I dunno what it’s all about yet,” admitted the sheriff.
+“Danged if it didn’t happen so quick that I never even remembered that
+I had a gun. Why, Trainor never even fired a shot. Gosh A’mighty, you
+two fellers sure do know how to make a gun hop.”
+
+The Lanphers surrounded them, trying to express their thanks but none of
+them could talk coherently. Ben shook hands with Hashknife silently and
+turned away to Lorna, who was with her father.
+
+Lanpher was looking at them, as Hashknife touched him on the arm and
+spoke softly:
+
+“Shoot square, Lanpher. This is between them.”
+
+“I know,” breathed Lanpher. “It is not for us to say.”
+
+Mrs. Lanpher and Helen had moved in closer, watching Ben and Lorna,
+who were talking softly. Ben shook his head, as if not understanding.
+He questioned her anxiously, but she shook her head again and turned
+away.
+
+Ben frowned thoughtfully.
+
+“Will we be goin’ home now, Lorna?” asked Cassidy huskily.
+
+“Yes,” she said softly, without lifting her head.
+
+Ben looked at her for a moment and turned to his mother.
+
+“She won’t marry me,” he said slowly.
+
+“Why?” asked Mrs. Lanpher foolishly.
+
+“She says she don’t love me.”
+
+“---- good reason!” blurted Mrs. Cassidy.
+
+Cassidy crossed to her and put his arm around her; but she did not look
+up at him as she said:
+
+“Love is such a little word, don’t you see. It means today--not tomorrow
+or the next day. Ben wants to marry me today. His folks don’t want him
+to marry me. He is willing to marry me in spite of them--today.
+
+“I am half-Indian.” She turned and faced them, her eyes half-closed.
+“Maybe the Indian half is the strongest. Ben would not love an
+Indian--tomorrow. And you will all be much happier. I want to be
+happy, too.”
+
+“---- right!” exclaimed Mrs. Cassidy inelegantly.
+
+“Well,” Mrs. Lanpher gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it has all turned
+out for the best.”
+
+“Yes, for the best,” said Lorna softly.
+
+“But nobody has asked me what I think,” complained Ben. “Haven’t I
+anything to say about it?”
+
+“Very little,” said Cassidy. “Go on back to your town and settle down,
+Bennie. You’ve been a lucky lad to stay as long as ye have. Come, Lorna.
+Are ye ready, Minnie?”
+
+“---- right,” said Minnie, “Mamook klatawa.”
+
+Hashknife and Sleepy were watching Cassidy, Minnie and Lorna crossing
+the street, when Lanpher grasped Hashknife by the arm, yanking at him
+nervously.
+
+“I’m still in a whirl,” he declared. “It is like waking from a
+nightmare, don’t you know it? Why, there isn’t a man left on the Circle
+Cross. Four dead men! Can you imagine that?”
+
+Hashknife nodded slowly, sadly. His face seemed to have aged years in a
+few minutes.
+
+“Yeah, I can imagine it.”
+
+“Well, I don’t know which way to turn.”
+
+Lanpher nervously fumbled in his pocket and produced a check-book.
+
+“I promised you a thousand apiece, didn’t I? I’m going to double that.
+My Lord, it was worth three times that much. I--I mean, it is worth
+everything in the world to me.”
+
+Helen and her mother had come to them, and Lanpher turned nervously to
+them.
+
+“I--I’m trying to pay my debts,” he explained, showing them the
+check-book.
+
+“In money?” asked Mrs. Lanpher.
+
+“That’s--right,” Lanpher’s voice softened and he shook his head.
+
+“Not my debts, mother--my bills.”
+
+He started to write a check, but stopped and looked straight at
+Hashknife.
+
+“Hartley, will you and Stevens accept half-interest in the Circle Cross,
+and handle my half for me?”
+
+“No, I reckon not,” he said slowly, apologetically. “Yuh see, me and
+Sleepy have got so much iron in our system that we’d kinda rust if we
+hung around in one place too long. Thank yuh just the same, folks.
+It’s a fine offer.”
+
+“Will you come to visit us at San Francisco?” asked Helen. “Our home is
+your home now.”
+
+“When you have a dry season,” said Sleepy. “Fog and iron don’t go well
+together.”
+
+“Where will you go from here?” asked Lanpher, handing them each a check.
+“We want to keep track of you two.”
+
+“Keep track of us?” Hashknife smiled wistfully. “You’ll have a job,
+pardner. We’ve been called the antidotes for poisoned ranges. We’ll
+likely keep goin’ until our medicine gets too weak. But we’ll let yuh
+hear from us once in a while.”
+
+When Hashknife turned he found Sleepy grinning widely at him.
+
+“What did Helen Lanpher mean, Hashknife?”
+
+Hashknife grinned and rubbed his chin.
+
+“I dunno,” he confessed. “Did sound kinda funny. I wish it wasn’t so
+danged drizzly in Frisco town.”
+
+“They have a dry season down there,” said Sleepy suggestively.
+
+“I s’pose. I’m havin’ mine right now, cowboy. Let’s bust these checks
+and hit the grit. I’m all fed up on tears, and I hate a quiet country
+like this. C’mon.”
+
+“It used to be a good country,” sighed Sleepy.
+
+Hashknife laughed softly, glanced back toward the hotel, and they
+rattled their spurs across the door step together.
+
+
+[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the February 29, 1924 issue
+of Adventure magazine.]
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78685 ***